I was one of those kids who salivated at his particular interests. For me, it was space. My father used to tell dinner guests to "ask him anything about space," and I usually had the answer. I went to space camp. I ate astronaut ice cream and flew a space shuttle simulator. I had posters of rockets, and I launched the model kind on weekends. From about age five and well into adolescence, space was my Mecca. In many ways it remains so-- the ultimate aspiration for the human race.
I was in second grade when the Challenger exploded. That night I had a dream. Ronald Reagan was at the podium addressing the nation. He told us that America wouldn't return to space for the next 248 years (coincidentally, one Pluto year). I woke up in quiet mourning, and spent the day pouting over what I viewed as the loss of my life's central goal. But after a few days, I got over it.
In fifth grade, I saw the Discovery launch from a viewing area 5 miles off of Cape Canaveral. The anticipation of the countdown emanated from the RVs and pacing crowds around me. The ground shook mightily even from that distance, and a nearly blinding light grew under the red and white speck I'd been eyeing for what seemed forever. The roar of the craft filled the air as smoke billowed and grew into a tower that reached skyward, the tiny speck disappearing into the blue far above to the awe of everyone around me. It was one of the best days of my life.
Since then, I've followed the US space program with varying degrees of attention. I've caught a few more shuttle launches on TV, and have felt the grandeur of the vessel slip into the routine, part of the background noise of history and public life. I've been around long enough to witness the space program's culture shift from one of fighter pilots and hard-nosed engineers, to overachieving PhDs and computer nerds who are more interested in piloting rovers and studying the geology of an obscure Jovian moon than they are in getting people up there. I felt a small pang of sadness when they rolled out a Space Shuttle replacement that looks like the Apollo craft of 50 years ago, only with half its lift capacity to orbit. I know we live in austere times, but it's sad to watch these personal and national dreams fade in memory.
With the Atlantis now in orbit for the last time, every comment on the mission is prefaced with "this is the last time that..." The last time the Solid Rocket Boosters will separate and land in the Atlantic. The last time a Shuttle reaches Main Engine Cutoff. The last International Space Station docking. The last Shuttle space walk. The last jettisoning of human waste. Well, that last one hasn't happened quite yet at least.
But this is so far from the end. New nations are sending people into space. Russian Soyuz craft make the trip far more routine than any Shuttle launch ever was. Private industry is building crew capsules and heavy lift rockets, and is already selling trips to suborbital space. A viable space plane was just commissioned by the European Space Agency. Someone is building an inflatable habitat that will one day become a hotel in orbit. Ion and plasma propulsion make realistic promises of trips to Mars in weeks rather than months. And NASA is still writing grants for all of this work.
At some point not far from now, space will become profitable. With enough capital and R&D, sending tourists aloft, launching satellites, and trillions of dollars in mining and energy are just some of the possibilities. Someone will figure out how to become a billionaire up there, and then many, many others will follow. We are nearing an age where public investments in the basic knowledge of how to achieve orbit will give way to private leveraging of capital for ambitious orbital, lunar, and interplanetary projects. NASA must continue to fund the basic science-- that is the necessary and legitimate province of the state. But it won't be on a NASA vehicle that I'll make it up there.
I am more optimistic than ever about our future in space. Public investment opens up new industries with massive profit potential. History tells us that when something becomes profitable, it usually grows orders of magnitude faster than anybody would have guessed. Space will happen, and it will happen quick. My only remaining fear is that I'll be too old to pay a visit to the Lunar Hilton. But I have the same hope as I ever did.
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