What would Zefram Do?

By Charles Polk

Star Trek is a utopian opera, at least with regard to how humans conduct themselves on the grand stage.  Let’s face it, something as selflessly honorable as rigid adherence to the Prime Directive is as unlikely as the panoply of spic-n-span starships, science-before-commerce, and pressed uniforms.  It’s no wonder that inter-species conflict provides the theme for the most popular episodes of Star Trek – I mean, we’ve got to relate to something. 

There was one character whose actions spoke truth to this transformed-humanity dreamland – Zefram Cochrane.  We know from Star Trek:  First Contact that the inventor of warp drive was an entrepreneur using surplus hardware, on a shoestring budget, and in the pursuit of a passion from which he expected to profit. 

Of course, once Zefram succeeds, the Vulcans show up and everyone goes all gooey.  Thank God a human woman comes along to corrupt a high-ranking Vulcan and produce Spock, through whom the most enduring story arc transpires:  The role of emotions to bring substance to pure rationality.  But I digress.

Pure scientific exploration is funded from the surplus generated by society.  The blank-check approach exemplified by the Manhattan Project and Apollo can only be justified as responses to perceived existential threats – they are not justified by whatever science is produced.  Further, blank-check efforts result in institutional inertia that consumes societal surplus inefficiently.  The national lab and NASA center institutions have endured long after victories over the threats that created them.  Conducting scientific exploration through such institutions is wasteful. 

Let’s consider NASA’s latest heavy lift booster concept: 

The prime directive of proposed NASA launch systems since the mid-1980s has been, “Build something, anything, out of Shuttle components.”  The latest travesty is no exception. 

What’s behind NASA’s booster prime directive (BPD)?  The Shuttle was a compromise design based on technologies the freshest of which date from the mid-1970s.  The Shuttle was an economic disaster.  The Shuttle’s various design flaws killed 14 people.  Nothing about the Shuttle suggests a technical or economic rationale for the BPD.  Rather, the basis of the BPD is the political-industrial coalition behind the Shuttle – the inertia of entrenched interests, pure and simple. 

The Shuttle and its last raison d’être – the International Space Station – consumed enough money for several Apollo programs, yet humanity has not left low-earth orbit since 1972.  And, since there is no credible existential justification for manned space exploration, NASA’s latest Shuttle retread will continue to consume all the available oxygen (a.k.a., U.S. government funding) in the room. 

So, “What would Zefram do?"

Well, Zefram wouldn’t separate the higher goals of space exploration from the economic realities that govern how things get done when daddy hasn’t given you a bottomless piggy bank.  Which brings us to Zefram’s Basic Principles:

• Make minimum modifications of what exists in the broader vendor community.  For example, if SpaceX will sign a fixed-price contract for ten Falcon-heavy launches at $1,000/pound, then concentrate on orbital assembly rather than on getting into orbit.
• 
  
• Tight, focused, vertical integration of what can't be bought from vendors.
• 
  
• Tie together complementary customers.  For example, science missions as secondary payloads on commercial satellite launches.
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• Don't shy away from creative -- meaning non-governmental -- ways of funding exploration.  For example, the National Geographic Society provides hundreds of millions of dollars for exploration through proceeds from its media (entertainment, really).

Small nimble companies can surprise and, over time, crush large sclerotic companies.

Endowed foundations build everything from performing arts centers to observatories.

Space isn’t so damn special that only governments can operate in it.  In fact, if only governments can operate in Space, humanity will never get all that much done beyond Earth. 

Star Trek isn’t real.  Humanity isn’t going to form an enlightened Federation dedicated to giving Space-geeks an unlimited budget.  Basically, it’s time to grow a pair.  Zefram did.

When it comes to financing Mars Exploration, there’s more Money in Fantasy than Reality

By Charles Polk

I recall a NASA conference some years back at which one topic dealt with how to get the people interested in space exploration.  It was decided that the problem was poor PR.  If only the people were aware of the wonderful things NASA did and planned to do, then they would be interested. 

My reaction was, “How very Soviet.”

The 21^st century is a dynamic and stunningly interconnected time.  Competition for an individual’s interest has never been so vibrant.  In a distributed web of media consumers and producers, top-down attempts to command the people’s interests are archaic and silly.

Consider the following very non-Soviet perspective and approach:

People spend most of their mental energy wondering and dreaming about things they haven’t yet done and probably never will do.  This is the basis of human creativity – the realities we create, we imagine first.  Further, and to the point of this blog post, the trillion-dollar entertainment industry exists because we are this way. 

Since before Homer there has been a thriving industry in fantasy.  The segment of the fantasy industry based on space-related themes predates the Space Race and has continued over the 42 years since the Space Race ended.  Extraterrestrial settings, aliens, and frontier adventure feature prominently in entertainment media. 

What would happen if the commercial fantasy business were connected to real space exploration; namely, could space-themed media finance space exploration?  The answer depends on the process connecting fantasy to exploration.  Consider two processes:

A.   Top-down.  Some entity – a government agency, a private foundation, or a corporation – proposes an exploration plan and earns money from media based on its plan.

B.    Bottom-up.  A membership society hosts a process through which its members experience, through media, innumerable imagined settings, characters, and themes.  Over time, the members define a specific exploration plan that is financed by proceeds from their media experiences.

Notice that neither NASA nor any other space agency goes even as far as Process A toward engaging individuals’ interests.  But let’s imagine that they did.  Their efforts would likely fail to bring in much revenue.  For the following reasons, Process B is more likely to finance space exploration:

·      Variety.  Not bound to a predetermined plan, there would be greater variety in media content, which would interest a larger audience, encourage more media production, and encourage more consumption per consumer.

·      Participation.  By connecting a member’s consumption of media to decision authority over the exploration, a member becomes more than a spectator.

·      Practicality.  With the plan dependent on the money-raising process, an intersection between financing capability and technical feasibility is more likely.

Just because it’s a better bet to finance space exploration doesn’t mean Process B is certain to finance space exploration.  There are an infinite number of Space exploration targets.  A process to finance the exploration of the infinite is too vague.  You’ve got to start somewhere, pick a target, and bind the financing process to the target.

Since before Homer, Mars has been part of the fantasy business.  Since humanity has understood that Mars is a terrestrial planet, it has been a focus of popular-culture speculation about life beyond Earth, both indigenous and transplanted.  Humanity expects to go to Mars, someday, somehow. 

Process B, with Mars as the target, offers the best chance for imagination to lead reality in the form of entertainment financing space exploration.  But it’s a process that a government agency cannot implement and no PR budget can make it so.

Invigorating Space Exploration by separating Demand from Supply

Or

Why Space shouldn’t be a Hobby

By Charles Polk

In April 2011, NASA reported that if it had undertaken the development of SpaceX’s Falcon 9 rocket the cost to U.S. taxpayers would have been $4 billion.  In the same report, NASA confirmed that SpaceX had developed Falcon 9 for $390 million. 

Falcon 9 is neither a technological marvel nor the product of revolutionary production and management processes.  Rather, it is a modernization of decades-old technologies produced by a company that has an altogether normal interest in controlling its costs. 

When a person has a hobby – let’s say carpentry – the person’s goal isn’t to acquire wooden items; rather, the person’s goal is to experience making items out of wood.  A chair made by this hobbyist has value to him that is independent of a similar chair he could buy for less than his hobby costs.  The hobbyist carpenter is both the demander and the supplier of the chair, which is the point after all, as he wishes to experience a craft not participate in the furniture business. 

When a nation has a space exploration program, the nation’s goal is more involved than just the acquisition of knowledge about matters beyond Earth’s atmosphere.  The nation assumes the roles of both demander and supplier.  In the supplier role, the politics of what research centers and which companies receive funding becomes a driving force in how supply is organized and, consequently, in the costs and capabilities of what can be purchased. 

Using the mental construct of national space program as national hobby may be a bit riling to some, but consider the following classic observations about hobbies:

·      When a parent funds a child’s hobby, the parent’s interests in tools, workspaces, and hobby stores impact how the child pursues his or her hobby.

·      The stores that supply hobby inputs understand that their customer is strongly interested in the experience, not just the output, of the hobby. 

·      The hobby stores also understand that when the hobbyist has a funder it is just as important to cater to the funder as to the hobbyist. 

A national space program has hundreds of parents who decide how much is spent and how it is spent.  The companies involved in supplying inputs understand that the national space bureaucracy is as interested in experiencing the process as it is in the exploration conducted.  Rather than being pure suppliers to a pure demander, these companies enable the parents and the bureaucracy to direct both demand and supply. 

Whether labeled as a hobby or not, when demand and supply are directed by the same entity, the entity’s primary goal is simply to maintain its direction over demand and supply (i.e., to experience both).  Cost efficiency relative to global supply capabilities – a primary goal of any pure demander – is not a primary goal of such an entity.

However, when there is competition between hobbyists, where their outputs will be the measure of victory and the efforts required seriously press on their funding capabilities, then cost control becomes important enough to impact how the hobby is conducted.  From 1957 to 1969, such competition existed between national space exploration programs.  After forty-two years without such competition, the first paragraph of this blog post shouldn’t come as a surprise. 

So, if one wants to see the manned exploration of Mars, for whatever reason, which of the following options would have the lowest price tag?

A.   Collaboration among national space bureaucracies

B.    High-profile competition among national space bureaucracies

C.    A clean separation between demand and supply

Option A would compound the cost inefficiencies involved in attaining any particular exploration goal.  Option B is a recasting of the Moon Race with Mars as the target – it might cost less (globally) than Option A, but would be very expensive all the same.  Option C would decouple the roles of demander and supplier, resulting in suppliers having to care about the price sensitivities of the demander.

For Option C, imagine a large endowment dedicated to Mars exploration – let’s call it The Martian Trust.  If the governance of The Martian Trust were independent of any political entity or corporation, it would be a pure demander of Mars exploration, not caring who supplies the exploration but caring intently about the price of supply.

Assuming a large enough endowment, The Martian Trust of Option C looks good.  There is, of course, the matter of raising the endowment.  If national governments contributed the endowment, it would be proper for them to exercise control over how the endowment is spent, which would turn this into Option A. 

For now, I’ll leave the raising of the endowment to The Martian Trust website (www.martiantrust.org) and future blog posts. 

In closing, I’d like to point out that Option C is not inimical to national space agencies.  These agencies are natural participants among the suppliers in Option C.  Such an agency would be in competition with other agencies, companies, and consortia of agencies and companies.  Rather than being a bad thing for national space agencies, this competition would root out inefficient practices and structures that have grown from demander/supplier coupling.