Category Why Mars

In July, the Phobos mission was ready to go. There would be two probes sent, one July 7, the other July 12. There was great expectation and attention paid to the flight in the United States. The Soviet Union had not tried to go to Mars since 1973, and it had failed then. Success potentially meant initiation of a more robust Mars program in both the Soviet Union and the United States, with col­laboration a central, political purpose.

Science magazine spoke of “Mars Mania,” highlighting the enthusiasm and expectation that were building. American dignitaries went to the Soviet Union to watch the Phobos launch, and U. S. scientists prepared to participate in re­search Phobos made possible. In return, NASA had agreed that Soviet scientists could participate in Mars Observer research. NASA and JPL worked to incor­porate the Mars balloon relay system into Mars Observer development.38

The launch for Phobos was spectacular, and the various Western dignitar­ies who attended were impressed. Sagdeev, who had spearheaded the mission, called previous attempts with small bodies like Phobos a “quick kiss.” This was going to be a prolonged dalliance, he said.39 But relatively early into what was a seven-month flight, on August 31, problems arose on the Phobos 1 space­craft. Flight controllers in the Soviet Union sent Phobos 1 a radio command that “lacked a single character.” This error confused “its navigation system” and moved “its solar panels out of alignment with the sun.” Without adequate power, Phobos і ran into severe difficulty.

A “forlorn” Sagdeev was photographed behind a model of the Phobos space­craft at the U. S. ambassador’s residence in Moscow. It was September 9, and he had to announce that Phobos і seemed doomed, tumbling out of control mil­lions of miles from Earth. By November, it would be officially ruled a failure.40 The Soviets and their allies still hoped for the success of Phobos 2. It reached Mars on January 29, 1989. Tass proudly announced that the planet Mars “has acquired one more satellite which will bring mankind closer to unraveling the mysteries of the planet.”41 It did return useful data on Mars and Phobos briefly. However, in late March, as it neared the long-anticipated Phobos rendezvous, it ceased to function.

The Phobos failure damaged the Soviet Mars program. The repercussions were dreadful for Mars advocates in the United States. At least for the moment, the dream shared across nations of a Mars Together initiative was on hold. An angry Sagdeev lashed out at engineer-managers who had had final control over technical design. Computer backups might have saved the mission, he com­plained, but were not available. “I hope that, in the future, space technology producers will have their absolute freedom restricted so that the world scientific community, as the end user of the technology, can have a say in decision making on spacecraft design.” That remark brought a retort from Roald Kremnev, as

ranking Phobos engineer, reminding Sagdeev that “space technology designers have to comply with a set of restrictions relating to the funds and the weight and size of the spacecraft, etc.” Scientists cannot expect to have their own way, he countered.42

The disappointment was deep not only in the Soviet Union but also in America. The Planetary Society and U. S. scientists associated with Phobos had banked on success of at least one of the two probes. They viewed Phobos not as a Soviet mission, but as a mission that “transcended” national borders and could lead to a regeneration of Mars flights in the United States.43 Scientists in the United States and the Soviet Union were linked in what they hoped would be a sequence of ever more challenging Mars missions. The Planetary Society saw Phobos as part of an overarching strategy to rekindle public interest in space, build bridges of peace between the United States and the Soviet Union, and pressure NASA to be more Mars oriented. Now, Mars exploration depended on what happened to the next flight in line, Mars Observer, in America. Also, Mars exploration depended on the man Fletcher had briefed on Mars policy following the Ride report, George H. W. Bush, elected president in November.

As 1999 began, NASA surged forward. NASA now planned an advanced rover, the kind analogous to one first discussed after Viking, which would traverse great distances and aid in identifying and collecting soil and rock samples. The sample would be reclaimed later and returned for analysis in Earth laboratories. The multistage mission was complicated and demanding. NASA knew it, but the collective attitude was exceedingly positive. The Jet Propulsion Laboratory appointed Bill O’Neill as Mars Sample Return project manager. An experienced leader, he enthusiastically began planning for the actions ahead. O’Neil called MSR “the most exciting, complex robotic space mission ever,” a mission that was “historic.”1

Clinton’s policy toward NASA continued to be mixed. His budget, an­nounced at the beginning of February, cut NASA by 1% from the preceding year. However, space science got another boost of $3.6 %.2 Mars exploration was obviously NASA’s lead planetary program. For Goldin, it was much more. Mars was the destination about which he had been thinking since he was a boy.3

Goldin set up a “Decadal Planning Team” and enlisted the space science and human spaceflight directors in its support. He also established an activity called HEDS—for Human Exploration and Development of Space. This enterprise aimed at getting various parts of NASA to think about robotic and human Mars exploration. They would address, for example, the kinds of sensors that robotic

spacecraft to Mars might carry to help future astronauts.4 He instructed the Decadal Planning Team to think beyond the space station. “I want to get people to Mars for the right reasons,” he said.5 He truly believed that human spaceflight to Mars would be possible in the not-too-distant future, and it was time to plan for that eventuality. Toward that end, he expected the robotic and human programs to join forces. But Goldin’s vision was cut short by unexpected and painful reality. NASA suffered a major setback in its Mars program and had to step back, rethink, and formulate a different strategy—in fact, a new program.

The timing and substance of the president’s announcement could not be dis­connected from what happened with the MEP. If Spirit succeeded, it would be much easier to herald a new human program to the Moon and Mars. But there was reason to be wary. Other countries recently had joined the United States in the Mars quest. They were finding the Red Planet as daunting as the pioneering nations, the United States and Russia, had. The Japanese on December 9 had to declare a Mars mission they had sent a failure. They were unable to put their probe into its intended orbit. On Christmas Eve, the European Space Agency did achieve Mars orbit with its Mars Express, but the Beagle 2 lander/rover it carried failed the next day.30

Weiler’s comment about Mars being “a death planet” had justification. O’Keefe, Weiler, and Elachi were all present on Saturday night, January 5, 2004, at JPL’s mission control room as Spirit made its long-awaited attempt to land. Because of the distance between Mars and Earth, there was a gap of several minutes between what happened on Mars and signals of what happened were received on Earth. “I’m scared,” admitted Weiler. “An awful lot of things have to go right. . . it’s up to the Gods now.” Carrying its 384-pound rover NASA described as a PhD field geologist in capability, the spacecraft began its harrow­ing descent to Mars. It entered Mars’s atmosphere at 12,000 miles per hour and had six minutes to carry out a series of automated maneuvers that would lead to either a safe landing or a disaster. Weiler called this period of time “six minutes from Hell.”31

Spirit made it. When the signal arrived that the spacecraft had safely con­cluded its bounce-after-bounce landing, joy erupted at JPL mission control. Scientists, engineers, and NASA officials cheered. Naderi cried. He “ran down

the corridor to see Theisinger [the project manager].” He was emotional too. Everyone “hugged one another.”32 Sean O’Keefe opened a bottle of champagne. The celebration was one of immense relief. “There are probably several hun­dred people here for whom it’s the best day of their lives,” one scientist told a Washington Post reporter. At a news conference a little later, O’Keefe stated, “This is a big night for NASA.” “We’re back!” he exclaimed, “and we’re on Mars.”33 O’Keefe later told Elachi, “You saved the agency.”34

The significance of Spirit’s achievement for the White House was indicated by Bush’s science advisor, John Marburger, who was also among the notables at JPL. “This is going to give everybody a big boost,” he commented. “It gives a big boost to the American people. Obviously, this helps a lot to instill confidence in any policy step that you make.”35

In June, MSL went through a Critical Design Review (CDR), the most signifi­cant decision point since the 2006 PDR. It revealed that some of the problems that had surfaced at the PDR, especially those of the actuators, had not been solved. NASA would have to go back to more conventional actuators, and that would add money and time. Figueroa, who chaired the CDR, warned Stern he would need to put more money into MSL and should not make any unnecessary changes in design. But Stern was determined to speed MSR. By September,

Stern faced the reality that if he wanted to add a sample-collecting capability to MSL, he would have to subtract certain other capabilities. The problem was that costs kept going up. He had taken office promising to end what he called management by checkbook.

The issue came to a head over an amount that was relatively modest—$75 million in a project now costing $1.7 billion. The issue was that this was the most recent of a sequence of cost increases. More importantly, Stern saw a need to hold the line, or admit defeat in his get-tough management approach. Thus, he ordered the MSL project manager to omit two instruments, cap oth­ers, and alter certain design elements. Doing so, in his view, would avoid the overrun, while also providing scope for his sample return addition. Stern called the changes “low-impact mission scope reductions.” In discussing his decision September 19, he stated, “I’ve spent all the reserves for the Mars Exploration Program for next year. The next check I write results in cancelling a mission or mission extension.” He warned that he had even considered terminating MSL.78

The Planetary Society, led by Huntress, decried the reductions in capability in MSL. The Society sent letters to U. S. lawmakers urging them to block imple­mentation of the cutbacks until Congress could “evaluate them in the context of the overall NASA budget.” It charged, “The loss to science on MSL seems out of proportion. The goal of MSL is to conduct science, and to throw out so much of the mission science objectives for less than 4% of the mission cost, and for assurance costs that have not yet been realized, seems penny-wise and pound foolish.”79

The Stern decision caused particular dismay for those contractors directly affected. They sought to find ways to deal with the situation. Stern struck a hard bargain. In November, he announced the outcome of negotiations. The two primary devices to be deleted would be restored, he said. These were the Mars Descent Imager and the Laser-Induced Remote Sensing for Chemistry and Micro-Imaging Instrument.

Stern explained in a letter to the Mars science community that he agreed to restore the descent imager because its maker, the Malin Space Science Systems Company, “has agreed that there will be no additional costs to NASA.” As for the other laser instrument, he said the principal contractors had found ways to significantly reduce its costs to NASA. Those costs were down to $400,000, a figure that caused Stern to declare “victory” in his negotiations. “The outcome,” he said, “is even better than we had imagined possible in September.”80

Decision making for the Mars program under Stern increasingly revolved

about MSL. It was emerging as a flagship not only for the Mars program but for NASA generally. As its costs rose and debates swirled over what kind of equipment it should carry, the question of where it should land on Mars also simmered in the background.

NASA had a steering committee for the MSL site selection. This commit­tee in late October brought together a large assembly of leading Mars scien­tists to narrow the number of places MSL might land. The group met for two days in a Pasadena hotel. The group represented various disciplines, including astrobiology.

There were 51 possible sites discussed. As in the past, safety and scientific potential were critical values to balance. Each site was discussed at length, and NASA said additional sites could be nominated. The meeting became “boister­ous” as strong-willed individuals advocated their choices. Majority votes were taken. When the meeting concluded, the list stood at six. “A lot of people sub­verted their interests [in a particular site] to the science. This degree of com­munity participation is one reason the Mars program has been so successful,” stated David Des Marais, a geochemist at NASA-Ames.81

NASA said that with the help of the steering committee and other scientists, it would decide on a single site in nine months. It was still uncertain what would come after MSL, but preparations for this project moved ahead.

As 2008 began, Congress finally passed an omnibus budget bill to keep the government running. Its most important impact on NASA was that while con­tinuing to keep NASA spending relatively flat, the Democratic majority made modest changes in the science budget reflecting a desire to raise the priority of Earth science.82 For years, this NASA program had been constrained by the Bush administration’s relative disinterest in the climate change issue. The Democrats increased spending on the field. But without major enhancements of NASA funding overall, the stress on Mars spending worsened.

The Mars program suffered another significant blow in early 2008 when NASA had to postpone its next Scout mission, an orbital project to study Mars’s atmosphere, from 2011 to 2013. This decision, due to a conflict of interest dis­covered in the proposal competition, marked the first time in a decade that NASA would miss a Mars launch window.83

Fisk, as chair of the NAS SSB, declared that the way NASA was going gener­ally, and in science particularly, was not “sustainable.” As 2008 was an election year, he, Hubbard, Huntress, and many others outside the agency discussed

ways they could get a message to the next president that NASA was in trouble, as well as suggesting what might be done as remedy.84

In early February, Bush released his FY 2009 budget. Once again, Science magazine reported, the president put NASA “between a rock and a hard place.”85 With virtually everything squeezed within NASA’s $17.3 billion budget, the sci­ence program was held to a 1% increase, or $4.6 billion. Griffin knew that the budget was “painful” to scientists, but he had his gargantuan problems with the human spaceflight program and Bush’s failure to support it. “You’re only going to get so much,” he told the community. “Suck it up and live with it.”86

On July 6, NASA announced it had narrowed the number of sites where MSL might land to two. They were both craters: Gale and Eberswalde. In making this decision, NASA dropped two others in the “final four”: another crater named Holden and a likely flood channel called Mawrth Vallis. While all four provided evidence of ancient water activity, the two finalists were especially intriguing.

Eberswalde was believed to be an ancient river delta. Gale Crater contained a mountain in its center. If Gale became the final choice, MSL would climb part of the way up this mountain, studying different layers of rock as it went. NASA said it would choose the final site by the end of July. Grotzinger, MSL’s lead project scientist, declared at a press conference, “It’s like two different flavors of ice cream—do you like the chocolate or vanilla on Mars? So we go back and forth a lot.”55 Weiler told Grotzinger, “John, I want to you to go as if this is the last Mars mission for 50 years. Find the best place to go.”56 Grotzinger got the top MSL managers and scientists together in a proverbial “smoke-filled room.” They came down unanimously in favor of Gale and recommended this site to Weiler.57 Weiler made the choice official, and it was announced on July 22.

Political pressures from advocates and opponents ultimately affect NASA de­cisions. NASA is the institutional glue that holds Mars exploration together, sometimes well, sometimes not so well. The advocacy coalition keeps Mars on the NASA and national policy agenda. Opponents within the space sector and outside of it seek displacement of Mars with alternate priorities. Both sides work directly on NASA, and sometimes via end runs to the agency’s political masters or the general public. Leaders in NASA respond to events, results, and scien­tific, bureaucratic, and political pressures, as well as their own predilections. They choose among conflicting options and then work to build internal and external constituencies to effectuate their choices. The end result of the clash of interests can be decisions to establish a new program, to reorient an existing program, or to end a program. One equilibrium in the balance of interests gives way to another.

NASA decisions have to be sold to OMB, the Office of Science and Technol­ogy Policy, the president and his political advisors, and Congress. NASA policy at the space subsystem level has to fuse with national policy, largely through the annual budget and appropriations process. Money fuels big science. The process of official decision usually starts within NASA, as the agency sorts out its needs amidst contesting advocacy groups. Within NASA, the decision process requires the associate administrator for science and the Administrator to decide on priorities, the place of Mars among them, and how to build support for those preferences. They are executives with political roles. It is their task to lead. In the words of James Webb, who guided NASA and Apollo in the 1960s, the role of leadership is to integrate “a large number of forces, some countervailing, into a cohesive but essentially unstable whole and keeping it in motion in a desired direction.”8

A number of individuals in NASA have played these institutional leadership roles with respect to the robotic program over the years, from Mariner to MSL. First were Newell and Glennan. Both downplayed Mars in favor of the Moon, but they empowered Pickering, and the result was Mariner. Newell and Glen – nan’s successor, Webb, maintained Mariner. It was part of the contest between the United States and the Soviet Union. Moreover, Mariner got started at a time when NASA’s budget was soaring. There was plenty of support and money for multiple initiatives on several fronts.

In the late 1960s, Newell and Webb looked ahead to post-Apollo NASA. They both wanted to explore the solar system. Webb in particular hoped to use robotic Mars Voyager as a program precursory to human Mars exploration, but did not want to advertise that motivation. He desperately wanted to main­tain the Saturn rocket capability and the von Braun team. Newell went along with Webb and saw uses for the Saturn rocket, but many scientists (including a number at JPL) opposed the huge Saturn-driven Voyager. Congress killed the program before it could get started, because critics also saw it (correctly) as a covert precursor to human spaceflight to Mars, and they did not want to go that direction.

Webb moved Newell to another NASA position and told Naugle, his succes­sor, to reshape the Mars program, or it would die. Naugle worked feverishly. He and the NASA Administrator promoted Viking as a replacement. The Saturn rocket and its human-Mars connotation were removed. NASA sold Viking as post-Mariner, not post-Apollo. The search for life became the prime rationale for the robotic program. Naugle solidified scientific support, while Webb built a White House-congressional political base sufficient to get Viking under way. The Mariner political equilibrium ended with the Voyager debacle, and that of Viking gradually ensued.

Webb left, and Paine came on as Administrator. Naugle, a career official, stayed as associate administrator for science, providing continuity. Paine de­cided that NASA should pursue the most aggressive (and expensive) Viking op­tion Naugle proposed. He was oriented to a human Mars program and saw the precursory potential of Viking. Unfortunately, with Nixon’s cutbacks, there was no hope for a human Mars program. In fact, he later had to tell Naugle that Viking could be salvaged only by delaying its launch by two years.

Fletcher succeeded Paine as NASA Administrator. Like Webb and Paine, he saw Mars exploration as not only a science but a NASA priority. He fully backed Viking. More than Webb or Paine, he emphasized the rationale of Viking’s quest for exobiological life. He involved himself personally in the Viking project, first with Naugle, then with Naugle’s successor, Hinners. In 1976, however, the time came for decisions about what was called Viking 3. President Ford had become a potential target of those wishing to continue Viking, and he awaited a strong push from NASA for a follow-on in his last budget. That push did not come. The scientific consensus was that Viking did not find life. The result was far more ambiguous than a simple “no,” but that ambiguity was lost to most observers.

NASA’s decision had been to “go for broke,” to take an Apollo-like approach to Mars. Apollo’s goal had been clear—to beat the Soviet Union to the Moon. In an analogous way, the goal of Viking was to best the Soviet Union in finding life on Mars. Clarifying a goal, making it as simple as possible, can be a way of gaining support. But it is a high-risk strategy, if the goal is not achieved.

Viking’s failure to find life after so much concentrated effort, hype, and per­sonal sacrifice on the part of those involved tarnished the allure of Mars. It exhausted and diminished the advocacy coalition. Other non-Mars advocates pressed NASA for “their turn” at priority, specifically for Galileo and Hubble. A follow-on Viking project—seen mainly as a mobile Viking—would be a mis­sion costing $1 billion or more. It would have been so expensive as to preclude other worthy endeavors. NASA could afford only so many big science programs. NASA leaders decided not to press “the Case for Mars,” and almost by default Mars exploration moved to the back burner of NASA’s agenda.

And there it stayed for years. It took a long time for a new political consen­sus favorable to Mars to be established. Associate administrators for science and NASA Administrators came and went. They kept Mars exploration alive through “extended missions” studying Viking data, and eventually via Mars Observer, sold as a low-cost mission that would look not for life but for more general geophysical understanding. Life, as a goal, was scientifically unfashion­able. And without that special aura, Mars became, de facto, just another planet. Meanwhile, two successive associate administrators for science, Edelson and then Fisk, developed a new global environmental mission for NASA whose sig­nificance grew as climate change evolved as an issue. Cost-constrained decision makers chose not to push Mars, whose advocacy coalition had shrunk signifi­cantly, while they promoted other projects important in their own right.

The locus of strong advocacy for Mars was outside NASA in the 1980s. Ex­ternal Mars proponents, such as members of the Mars Underground and Carl Sagan, were critical of NASA. Seeking an end run around the agency, Sagan and the Planetary Society used macropolitical rationales, particularly Mars Together with the Soviet Union, to make the Red Planet more salient to the public and politicians. They linked space with international cooperation as a strategy to change NASA priorities. NASA leaders resisted generally when outside advo­cates sought to alter their priorities. This was particularly the case after the Challenger disaster, when Mars advocates tried to change the shuttle launch schedule in favor of Mars Observer.

Everything changed in respect to Mars when Goldin became Administrator in 1992 and he replaced Fisk with Huntress. Although vastly unlike in person­ality, Goldin, the political executive, and Huntress, the career official, struck an exceptionally creative alliance and made a huge difference for Mars. The Goldin-Huntress axis was not only extremely Mars oriented but also unusu­ally skilled. Goldin stands out for the passion he had for Mars and ability to work with political forces—Vice President Gore in particular—to further Mars interests. Huntress was crafty as an operator in bureaucracy and with his mer­curial boss. He was able to deal well with the science community. Together, Goldin and Huntress used the failure of Mars Observer to trigger a renewal of Mars priority and rebuild what was a weak program. They scheduled missions at every 26-month opportunity. Goldin made Mars the flagship of his faster, better, cheaper revolution, thereby enlisting support in the White House and Congress. From the White House perspective, Goldin’s efficiency campaign made him a “good soldier.”9 As he was responsive to the White House, it was responsive to him.

Goldin made deft use of the Mars meteorite to rekindle interest in the media and public for the search for life as a rationale. With Huntress on the inside and Sagan as an outside advisor, Goldin worked to revive exobiology, renamed “astrobiology,” as a scientific discipline. He sought to accelerate MSR. He linked robotic Mars and human spaceflight more firmly in hopes of enhancing the robotic program’s precursory role. When Huntress left and Weiler came on as associate administrator for science, Weiler picked up where Huntress had left off. An experienced and able manager, Weiler also worked in tandem with Goldin.

Mars was emphatically the science and personal priority for Goldin in the 1990s. When the twin Mars failures took place in 1999, Goldin and Weiler retained Mars as a flagship but ended the Mars Surveyor Program. Aided by Hubbard and his team, they made decisions that were more realistic techni­cally and financially. With political support in the White House, OMB played a constructive role in the program redesign, an ally rather than adversary. The “follow-the-water” MEP started a new era for NASA and the Red Planet. When Goldin left NASA, his legacy reflected the flaws of overreach, but it also boasted a Mars program that had been transformed profoundly for the better. Goldin led the advocacy coalition from NASA’s summit.

O’Keefe as NASA Administrator maintained the Mars program he inherited, and Spirit and Opportunity helped the agency (and nation) at a time of great psychic need in the post-Columbia period. When the second Bush made his Vi­sion for Space Exploration decision, O’Keefe sought to augment robotic Mars spending and even more strongly link the robotic program with its precursory role for human spaceflight. The dual purpose—life on, life to—was never more explicit, and significantly more funds for Mars were projected. A “Safe on Mars” funding line was planned. “Priority” for Mars as a budgetary strategy was in, “balance” out for O’Keefe. A backlash from advocates of other space science programs came quickly and intensely against what they saw as too extreme a Mars emphasis.

Griffin came on as Administrator, listened to non-Mars advocates, and “re­balanced” the science program away from Mars. He was most determined to launch NASA’s human return to the Moon—as prelude to Mars—but he lacked a presidential funding commitment required for Moon-Mars. With far too much on NASA’s plate, and the shuttle costing more than projected, he decided to cut science to help fund human spaceflight, and Mars was not excluded from the pain. The “Safe on Mars” funding element went away, along with much else that was not near-term.10 Griffin hoped his 2007 choice as associate administra­tor for science, Stern, would help him design a Mars exploration program that was scientifically sound, politically acceptable, and affordable. He agreed when Stern wished to again accelerate MSR. But the way Stern attempted to get to MSR proved extremely controversial. Whatever might have been said for the scientific MSR goal, the Mars program strategy proposed by Stern did not get the support of the scientific community it had to have to be viable. Then, Stern and Griffin clashed over MSL. When Stern directed a cut to the iconic Spirit and Opportunity rovers, without consulting Griffin, the NASA Administrator overruled him publicly, and Stern was forced to resign.

It was up to Weiler to repair the damage, as he returned to rechart the Mars program. He sought to restore the political equilibrium undergirding Mars ex­ploration which he found had been disrupted. He started by adroitly getting the NASA Administrator on his side. The first big decision he and Griffin made regarding the Red Planet was to delay MSL by two years. Behind the decision was Weiler’s understanding and finesse in working the NASA setting. In achiev­ing the same decision Stern had sought—delay—Weiler carefully gathered sup­port within NASA and JPL. This decision added to already substantial MSL costs, but made eventual success more likely. Griffin made it abundantly clear he regarded Mars exploration as a top priority for the Science Mission Direc­torate—and NASA. He decided that MSL would get the money it needed to succeed, even if there had to be cuts to other worthy programs as a consequence. But Spirit and Opportunity were not to be touched!

Leaders matter. They make difficult decisions that have large consequences. They engineer choices within the space policy sector and relate those choices to the broader national and international policy world. Many others can advocate, advise, lobby, and complain. But officials in the key positions of associate admin­istrator for science and NASA Administrator have formal authority to decide, and making choices is never easy when there is not enough money for all that needs to be done. The essence of science policy lies with decisions about prior­ity. Spirit and Opportunity would never have succeeded had not Goldin and Weiler found the money to make them happen. And Weiler had to do that more than once during the rovers’ development. Also, in government, how decisions are made or sold can be as important as the decisions themselves.

The Bush administration gave way to that of Obama, and Bolden became NASA leader. Weiler, who remained as associate administrator for science until 2011, planned for the next era of Mars exploration—a Mars Together program with Europe and possibly other nations. As before, the robotic program had a prime science goal—to find evidence of present or past life. The means for achieving this purpose remained MSR. This means is also itself an interim goal, a vital enabling one. There was virtual unanimity among JPL, the Mars sci­ence community, NASA decision makers, and Mars enthusiasts generally about MSR. The challenge, as always, was to find the money to realize this objective.

Weiler, the NASA decision maker, became an advocate to OMB and White House staff. He hoped that international cooperation would provide a helpful political rationale for its achievement, symbolizing that in austere times nations could collaborate on grand and worthwhile challenges, while sharing the risks and costs. He aimed at a new political equilibrium or consensus, based on a “Mars Together” rationale. He could not persuade NASA’s budgetary overseers, and he resigned at least in part as an act of protest.

Notwithstanding NASA’s withdrawal from the planned European partner­ship, the desire for joint missions remained. NASA Administrator Bolden and his new associate administrator for science, Grunsfeld, did not give up on col­laboration. Nor would their successors likely do so. There are realities about bold ambitions and an austere funding environment which shape what leaders do. What NASA needs is help in getting resources to match scientific vision. That can come through alliance with domestic groups as well as international partners. It can also come through exciting discovery. Long-term programs need periodic catalysts. Mars had one with the Mars meteorite in the mid-1990s. MSL’s Curiosity could produce a stimulus through exciting findings. Successes reinvigorate a lengthy program; failures bog it down. Discoveries or dramatic events can elevate Mars from sectoral policy to national policy. They can help attract political leaders, as the meteorite did Clinton and Gore. But discover­ies or events become catalysts for funding only when astute Mars advocates and their allies make good use of them, engage the media, win the public, and maneuver skillfully in the political/policy process. The larger the advocacy co­alition, and the better it is led, the more powerful the push for Mars.

At the most general level, Mars exploration is about understanding Earth’s ar­guably most interesting neighbor. Mars is both like and unlike Earth. It is the one planet people on Earth can see in some detail. Its rich, red color was al­ways a source of speculation prior to the space age. The ancient Romans named the planet Mars after their red god of war. The fourth planet from the Sun, it travels an elliptical orbit. At its closest approach to Earth, it is 48,700,000 miles (78,390,000 kilometers) away. Mars’s diameter is about 4,200 miles (6,790 kilometers), which is a little over half the diameter of Earth. Mars takes about 687 Earth days to go around the Sun. While the length of a Mars year is much longer than that of Earth, the Mars day is remarkably similar. Mars rotates on its axis once every 24 hours and 37 minutes. Mars also, like Earth, has seasons. During the Martian winter, observers see polar caps that are relatively large, and which then shrink during the Martian summers. Mars has an atmosphere, but the atmosphere is much thinner than that of Earth. It consists chiefly of carbon dioxide, with small amounts of nitrogen and other gases. The atmosphere of Earth, in contrast, is heavy on nitrogen and oxygen. Because of its distance from the sun, Mars is extremely cold. The temperature ranges from -iphF to -24°F (-i24°C to -3i°C). It has two moons, Phobos and Deimos.4

The similarities and differences are striking. They have contributed to the human desire to know more about Mars. Beyond these factors, there are at least three reasons that Mars has long been a special magnet for scientists and public alike. First, there is the question of life on Mars. For many years prior to NASA’s establishment, and even for some time afterward, there was a belief in many circles that there was life on the surface. When it became clear that such life would have difficulty surviving, various scientists suggested there were still possibilities in sheltered places on Mars, what they termed oases. Even scientists who today believe no life exists on the surface admit possibilities under the surface, in permafrost. No one expects that such life is highly developed. Most likely it is bacterial. But even if no life at all exists now, it may have once existed when Mars apparently had a very different climate and substantial water flowed. So the question of life on Mars, now or in the past, has always been a compel­ling driver for the Mars exploration program, in many ways the most significant one in terms of NASA history. For when optimism about life on Mars reigned, the program did well in obtaining resources. When pessimism took hold, the program languished.

There is a holy grail for the Mars robotics program: it is called Mars Sample Return (MSR), the retrieval of soil and rock from Mars. Samples would be brought back to Earth for examination in laboratories around the world to de­tect signs that will answer the big question of life. The challenge is to bring back “the right stuff,” and do so in a way protective of possible Martian life as well as human life from contamination. MSR is a monumental test, perhaps the single most complex and important mission for NASA since Apollo. It lies ahead and probably will require international collaboration owing to projected cost. But it has enormous value as a goal, on which there is widespread consensus. It gives direction and sequence to missions leading to it.

The second driver is the desire to send human life to Mars. The robotic pro­gram thus becomes a precursor to human missions, much as robotic Ranger and Surveyor missions were scouts for the Apollo voyage to the Moon. This makes the human spaceflight program a potential ally of the robotic program. NASA leaders can envision useful connections between robotic activity and human Mars journeys. When President George H. W. Bush proclaimed in 1989 that America should return humans to the Moon and then go on to Mars, his declara­tion also carried an understanding that robotic missions and human flight were partners in exploration. The same understanding applied to his son George W. Bush’s similar declaration in his 2004 “Vision for Space Exploration.” President Barack Obama in 2010 decided to bypass the Moon and emphasize Mars as the ultimate destination for humanity, sometime in the 2030s. An asteroid landing would be the interim step. Again, robotic flight would pave the way.

Robots may be partners with human spaceflight over the long haul, but in the short run they often compete for limited funds and represent different cultures. The robotic science program of NASA sees the human space effort as embody­ing an engineering and astronaut culture that wants to go to Mars “because it is there.” This is indeed a motivation, a “frontier” attitude, sometimes with manifest destiny overtones, to extend the human presence to outer space. “We go because we must.” “It is in our genes,” goes the refrain. There are those human spaceflight advocates who see Mars as not only a mountain to be climbed but a territory to be “terraformed” and settled. NASA’s “can do” engineers see exceptional technological challenge in human Mars exploration. Astronauts see romance and adventure. In contrast, robotic-oriented scientists seek basic understanding in comparative planetology, with emphasis on Martian life issues.

The field centers that report to the human spaceflight directorate in NASA’s Washington headquarters are different from those that report to the robotic science office. The human spaceflight program, as noted, has astronauts, and they are more than just another set of employees within NASA; they are in many ways the agency’s public face and source of inspiration to young people. Mars is the only planet where human missions are likely in the twenty-first century. The human spaceflight institutions and their cadre recognize the precursory importance to them of the robotics program. The interests of robotic science and human exploration potentially connect in the MSR mission. NASA needs to know what environmental hazards astronauts would face on Mars and also if they can convert the Red Planet’s physical resources into assets for long-term stays. Also, if NASA cannot bring rocks and soil back to Earth, it may not be able to bring human beings home. The technologies of MSR have direct rele­vance to human spaceflight. The short-term budget competition nevertheless can interfere with cooperation concerning Mars across NASA divisions.

The third driver is political. Space has always engendered rationales con­cerned with national leadership, prestige, pride, inspiration, and competition with other nations. It has been used by governmental officials to enhance co­operation also. Mars in the 1960s was a destination both the United States and the Soviet Union sought to reach first during the Cold War. It was a target of Cold War rivalry. During and after the Cold War, advocates of both human and robotic programs also called for using Mars as a political symbol for a joint enterprise uniting the rival superpowers. More recently, Mars has been seen as a vehicle for global cooperation. While much “Mars Together” rhetoric has been about human expeditions, it includes the robotic program in its collaborative embrace. NASA and the European Space Agency (ESA) have sought in par­ticular to work together on robotic missions, but relations have been turbulent.

Finding life on Mars, sending life to Mars, and using Mars for political ends have been the key drivers behind Mars exploration for decades. At different points in history one or another of these rationales has dominated. Sometimes more than one has influenced Mars exploration. Which one has resonated has depended on innumerable factors, including the strategies of Mars advocates. The most consistent theme affecting the direction and pace, as well as ups and downs, of the robotic program has been the prospect of finding evidence of Martian life. The connection with life has made Mars special among planets in the solar system.

Webb moved immediately to counter the threat and save the Mars program and planetary science along with it. He decoupled the Saturn 5 rocket from the space­craft, and von Braun from any semblance of leadership of the program. He also sent a strong message of dissatisfaction with OSSA to NASA and the scientific community by making changes in OSSA leadership. He moved Newell to NASA associate administrator and Newell’s deputy, Cortright, to a senior position in the OMSF. He appointed John Naugle, a 46-year-old physicist and experienced manager in OSSA, to take Newell’s place. He told him that all existing plans

for Mars were ended and to replan the robotic program for an austere environ­ment. Specifically, Webb directed OSSA to come up with a smaller Mars project costing much less than Voyager and using an intermediate-scale rocket.13 While Naugle led the intense scientific reorientation, Webb went to Johnson and con­gressional leaders and lobbied the political front.

Working furiously, NASA came up with an alternative Mars program in two weeks in early November, in time to get it inserted into the next budget John­son was submitting to Congress.14 In forwarding that budget at the beginning of 1968, the president declared, “We will not abandon the field of planetary exploration. I am recommending development of a new spacecraft for launch in 1973 to orbit and land on Mars. This new Mars mission will cost much less than half the Voyager program included in last year’s budget. Although the scientific result of this new mission will be less than that of Voyager, it will still provide extremely valuable data and serve as a building block for planetary exploration systems of the future.”15

NASA’s overall budget, already falling, went down again in 1968, but the Mars planetary program was saved. The Mariner 1969 flyby would be followed by a reinstated Mariner orbiter mission in 1971. Then, the replacement for Voy­ager, which would include both an orbiter and a lander, would come in 1973. The search for life would be its rationale, along with the continuing Soviet competition on the robotic Mars front. No one at NASA dared to say anything about a possible connection to human spaceflight. Voyager was dead. In its place was a new flight to Mars which later came to be called Viking.

Webb spent most of his energy and remaining political capital in 1968 giving a final push to the Apollo Moon landing. However, he was genuinely interested in science and wanted his legacy in that area to be positive, especially in regard to Mars. Webb, Johnson, and Congress all knew that the Soviet Union was pursuing robotic flight to Mars. Naugle, the new associate administrator for the OSSA, found in one of his first meetings with Webb that the NASA leader listened attentively to his recommendations, although Naugle might have to argue at length to defend them. Webb was cool toward Pickering and JPL, but he granted Naugle’s request to provide additional funds to JPL to avoid layoffs of personnel Naugle believed critical to planetary science. However, Webb, supersensitive to appearances in the wake of the Voyager debacle, told Naugle not to apply these technical people to the new Mars mission at this point, as he was still building congressional support for its approval.16

Naugle was responsible for reshaping Voyager’s replacement. He knew that scientists had testified against Voyager, and that he had to turn them around— or at least get them to keep quiet—for the new venture to move forward. He worked closely with Harry Hess, chairman of the SSB, to form a Lunar and Planetary Missions Board. They made sure to include critics of Voyager. Their aim was to get space scientists to sort out their priorities behind closed doors rather than in public statements to the media or Congress which NASA critics could use. Moreover, while Mars was the priority now, they wanted to assure the planetary community that other missions could take their turn later. What Naugle and Hess sought was consensus on a io-year plan, starting with Mars. Webb generally did not like science advisory committees, as he wished maxi­mum leeway for himself in NASA policymaking. But he wanted Naugle to move ahead in forging a relatively united scientific constituency.17

Naugle also took the lead in deciding which center would run the new proj­ect, a dispute that went back to Voyager. Like Voyager, the replacement was seen to encompass an orbiter, lander, and automated biological laboratory. This combination was unprecedented. JPL, eager for challenging assignments at the frontier of science and technology, especially in planetary exploration, lobbied to be in charge of the whole project now that the Saturn 5 issue was gone. So did Langley. The two centers battled within NASA in the early months of 1968, with Langely’s supporters pointing out that Langley was a “real” (i. e., civil service) center while JPL was a “contractor” center.18

Gradually, Naugle and his colleagues at OSSA settled on a recommendation to Webb, who made the final decision on the intercenter dispute. The recom­mendation was that JPL develop the orbiter—a spacecraft that would be based in part on its designs for Mariner—while Langley would develop the lander and be in charge of the project generally, including the biological laboratory. This decision riled Pickering, who did not give up easily. But Naugle argued that Langley had done a good job with a particular mission for Apollo (the Lunar Orbiter Program) and had stronger management capability. The latter consideration was crucial for Naugle: “Nobody felt JPL had the [management] horsepower to run a big lander-orbiter project,” he recalled. There was also an issue of headquarters control, and JPL was not easy to control.

NASA wanted strong oversight of the Mars venture. This was made crys­tal clear in May 1968 when NASA Headquarters sent Cortright to be director of Langley. “I was comfortable with Cortright,” Naugle said. “Everybody was comfortable with him. We knew he would do a good job. He would bring the resources of Langley to bear on the project.” Once Cortright took the reins of Langley, Pickering backed off.19

Webb left NASA in October, thereby giving his deputy, Tom Paine, a chance to show his mettle in the remainder of 1968. Webb believed if Paine did so, the next president probably would retain Paine at least through the Apollo 11 launch to the Moon in July 1969.20 Paine was seen as apolitical, a technocrat in the best sense. Age 46, Paine had come from industry and was extremely compe­tent and imaginative. He combined zeal for space with engineering competence and vision. However, he was in a “downsizing” period of NASA’s history, and he was not a downsizing kind of person.

Klein’s task as head of the biology group was exceedingly difficult. There were three chief experimenters: Gil Levin, Norm Horowitz, and Vance Oyama. Levin was a private-sector researcher, a PhD in sanitary engineering, whose experiment was called “Labeled Release.” Oyama was a NASA Ames biochem­ist, and his experiment was called “Gas Exchange.” Horowitz was a Caltech geneticist, and his experiment was known as “Pyrolytic Release.” The three men—especially Levin and Horowitz—disliked one another intensely. Horow­itz was openly contemptuous of Levin’s and Oyama’s experiments and called them “irrelevant.” Klein got the nickname “Rabbi,” for his efforts to keep peace among the researchers.69

Once Viking had settled on the ground a few days, the experimenters’ work commenced. The activity was slow and painstaking but gradually produced re­sults that some of the biologists found extremely provocative. NASA policy was that the scientists announce results quickly, as they became available, along with statements about confidence and uncertainty. The first promising results gained conspicuous headlines. But then, after a few more days, results from Viking looked less promising, and this fact was also reported by the media, but with lesser prominence. The problem was that some of the findings were compatible with life, but they could also be interpreted as reflecting evidence of a “strange and unexpected Martian surface chemistry.” Klein declared, “We have at least very preliminary evidence for a very active surface material. … [It looks] very much like a biological signal.” On the other hand, it could be chemical data that “may mimic biological activity.”70

Levin thought that his experiment was credible as to identifying life. It had been his test that had provided initial enthusiasm. “The cork literally popped,” recalled Soffen. But then the scientists took a closer look. At this point, Soffen recalled, “No one wanted to say [publicly] ‘We found it,’ and then say ‘sorry’— the whole credibility of science is shot to hell! So there was a lot of resistance to getting up and saying there was life.”71 What Klein did say was that “Mars is really talking to us and telling us something. The question is whether Mars is talking with a forked tongue or giving us the straight dope.”72 Was it life or bizarre chemistry that Mars was communicating? Then, on August 12, came results from the GCMS. It could not find any life-indicating organic molecules. This came as a profound shock to many Viking participants. For Soffen, the GCMS findings—no positive findings—were “a real wipe out.” Informed of these results, Soffen said to himself, “That’s the ball game. No organics on Mars, no life on Mars.”73

Not everyone shared Soffen’s gloom, but the results were surprising and dis­appointing. It was subsequently surmised that Mars’s ultraviolet sunlight pro­duced highly reactive compounds that broke down the organic molecules.74 But who knew for sure what was going on?

On September 2, Fletcher wrote President Ford that Viking was providing significant information about Mars’s geology, atmosphere, and planetary evolu­tion. However, “the search for forms of life remains inconclusive.”75

A lot now depended on Viking 2, the enhanced significance of which the media reported. The second Viking had been circling Mars for some time and was set to land September 3. As with Viking 1, there had been issues with where to land, and alternatives searched, but those questions had now been resolved. It would set down at a place called Utopia Plain, hundreds of miles to the north and halfway around the planet from the Viking 1 site. Whereas the first Viking landed at a Mars latitude equivalent to that on Earth of Mexico City, Viking 2 would land at the Mars latitude analogous to that of Montreal.76

The landing was successful, and again the president congratulated NASA. There was renewed hope. Soffen said that the discovery of even the simplest organic compound—inextricably associated with life as we know it—“would do it for us.”77 Once again, the biology experiments found indications compat­ible with life. But that was not strong enough proof for most Viking scientists. Hopes were pinned on the GCMS instrument once more in the quest for or – ganics.78 By the end of September, NASA had many enticing findings, but hard and convincing evidence for life was still not there. As Klein had feared, the promising results could have resulted from “a bizarre chemical system beyond immediate explanation.”79 The GCMS data were again negative. On October 1, the New York Times reported that Viking 2 had found “no organic matter,” and while results were “preliminary,” Viking scientists conceded that the findings “did not bode well for life-on-Mars theories.”80 Levin did not go along with the consensus. He told his fellow researchers, “We agreed at the outset that if the results came out a certain way, we’d say ‘yes’ to life. My experiment came out this way. I discovered life.”81 But Horowitz “overpowered Levin,” and he persuaded the others that Levin had not done so.82

As President Bush took office in January 1989, he was well aware of NASA’s troubles, as well as ambitions. He wanted to aid the agency’s recovery from Challenger and chart a space policy that would make the United States clearly the unquestioned global leader in space. He also smarted over criticism from opponents that he was lacking in “vision.” He soon signaled that he intended to give a higher priority to space, reestablishing the National Space Council (NSC). This was a top-level interagency body concerned with both military and civil space affairs which had existed under Presidents Eisenhower, Kennedy, and Johnson. It had been abolished by Nixon. He put his vice president, Dan Quayle, in charge. They agreed they had to give stronger direction to NASA, an agency that seemed directionless. At the same time, the Cold War was con­tinuing to thaw, and Gorbachev kept talking about joint activity in space, the disappointment of Phobos notwithstanding.

In April, Bush chose Richard Truly to be NASA Administrator. Truly, age 52, was a retired admiral with substantial experience as a naval aviator and NASA astronaut. He had distinguished himself as a NASA associate administrator who guided the shuttle back to flight status in 1988. Truly’s overriding interest was the Space Shuttle. He wanted not only to replace Challenger, as Reagan had authorized, but to enlarge the fleet from four to five. He also wanted to use the shuttle to build the space station. He regarded these tasks as his prime job.

The initiative for what became the president’s Moon-Mars decision came not from Truly but from the NSC, which was looking for ways to rejuvenate NASA and help the president. On July 20, Bush went to the National Air and Space Museum and called for “a long-range, continuing commitment. First, for the coming decade, for the 1990s: Space Station Freedom, our critical next step in all our space endeavors. And next, for the new century: back to the Moon, back to the future. And this time, back to stay. And then a journey into tomorrow, a journey to another planet: a manned mission to Mars.”

The decision, which launched what Bush called his Space Exploration Initia­tive (SEI), did not get the reception Bush and NSC anticipated. It seemed to come out of the blue. Very little political spadework had been done to prepare Congress, the media, or the American people. The consequence was that the decision was met by puzzlement, indifference, and, in the case of some influ­ential Democrats in Congress, opposition. Given budget deficits and NASA’s problems with the shuttle and space station, even proponents of Mars explora­tion, whether human or robotic, failed to take it seriously. Many in NASA were skeptical.44 The skeptics included Fisk.45

The question of “how” to get to the Moon and then Mars was left to be worked out. NSC executive director Mark Albrecht asked NASA to address the “how” question and provide various options. NASA took the next three months on what was called the “90-Day Study.” The result, which became known in November, was a 30-year program costing between $400 and $500 billion. When that estimate leaked, it shocked policymakers and dampened whatever enthusiasm that had been mustered. Albrecht and Vice President Quayle were furious. They had wanted options, and NASA came up with only one—the most expensive possibility in their view.

Aaron Cohen, of the JSC, who chaired the study, had a different point of view. He did not recall being asked by Albrecht, in a conversation they had, to provide different options with radically different costs. He determined that NASA’s job was to devise an aggressive program that would do what the presi­dent wanted with costs that were realistic, as had been the case with Apollo.46

For advocates of Mars robotic programs, the 90-Day Study provided a large menu of projects, including several rover missions and two MSR missions. There would also be observers and communication satellites on Mars. The study proposed a rich network of robotic technology for Mars.47 Hence, the Moon-

Mars decision of Bush seemed to give quite a boost to the Mars robotic science program’s viability, even though few took the 90-Day Study seriously once they contemplated the costs. As far as Albrecht and Quayle were concerned, Truly had, directly or indirectly, sabotaged the president’s decision. The relationship between NSC and NASA Administrator started badly and deteriorated further as time went on.

Whatever critics thought of SEI, the fact of presidential interest in space and Mars was important, especially with the Office of Management and Budget. In fact, the director of OMB, Richard Darman, was personally supportive of the space program. In early February 1990, Bush announced the budget that he was submitting to Congress. In contrast to cuts he was imposing on various other agencies, Bush asked for substantial increases for NASA. NASA would go from $12.3 billion to $15.1 billion.48 The increase would provide enhanced funds for NASA, virtually across the board. Mars Observer was now linked, in planning at least, with the human Moon-Mars Program. It already was connected to U. S.-USSR robotic relations. At the end of March, Bush announced that he would be looking for ways the United States could cooperate with other nations, especially the Soviet Union, in SEI. The Soviet Union reacted positively.

A lot had happened since the original U. S.-Soviet efforts in space coopera­tion led by Sagan and Sagdeev. The Phobos mission had failed, casting doubt once again on Soviet capability to follow through on plans. Politically, the Soviet Empire was under siege. In November 1989, the Berlin Wall had been breached and the Cold War, to all intents and purposes, ended. Bush wanted to support Gorbachev, if only to prevent less reform-minded Soviet hard-liners from gain­ing power. Sagan was one space scientist who had steadfastly encouraged U. S.- USSR space cooperation, in spite of the Phobos debacle and Soviet political turmoil. However, many other U. S. scientists were wary of Soviet connections.49

They could see robotic Mars exploration rejuvenating, independent of So­viet collaboration. A National Academy of Sciences National Research Council (NRC) panel that had been evaluating the SEI plan under the 90-Day Study took it upon itself to warn publicly that the U. S.-USSR alliance could have negative results for the robotic science program. In particular, the NRC scientists looked ahead to MSR and admonished NASA and the United States to be careful in planning a joint mission of this complexity. A highly interdependent undertak­ing could make planetary science “a potential hostage to political events.”50

If scientists were critical of SEI and wary of Soviet connections to the U. S. robotic exploration program, many in Congress were downright hostile and increasingly opposed to SEI, especially on financial grounds. In hearings by the House appropriations subcommittee responsible for NASA’s budget, questions were asked aimed at distinguishing SEI money from Mars Observer and other ongoing space science projects. Congress wanted to move forward with Mars Observer—even though it was experiencing significant cost increases—but not human Mars ventures.51

Encouraged by possible increases in funding for space science, in spite of the SEI controversy, NASA officials and scientists were thinking more positively and creatively about post-Mars Observer options. Scott Hubbard, a scientist and division chief at Ames, spotted a request for proposals for precursory mis­sions to Mars issued by NASA’s Office of Exploration, responsible for SEI plan­ning. He developed concepts for a program called Mars Environmental Survey (MESUR). The mission would place 16 robotic stations on Mars that would take various kinds of physical measurements. The first of these stations might be called “Pathfinder,” Hubbard suggested.52

Hubbard went to Washington in April 1990 and met with Briggs and Jim Martin, the former Viking project director, serving as an advisor to NASA. “Martin gave me a hard time—tough questions,” Hubbard recalled. But “after­ward, he came up to me and said: ‘It might work!’”53 Some time later, Briggs noted his interest in the Hubbard project to his OSSA associate, Joseph Boyce. What if the station carried a rover vehicle? he asked. “A little car could drive out,” Briggs continued. For years, since Viking, NASA had wanted to send a rover to explore. But “we’ve got to get to Mars’ surface cheaply,” Briggs added.

Briggs then called a close friend at JPL and broached the general idea, as well as his thought that it would save money if the Mars probe used a “hard landing” technique, such as airbags, instead of a “soft lander” approach, as had Viking, with retro-rockets. The JPL contact said JPL probably would not go for a hard lander. When Briggs asked JPL more formally, he got a response that did not give him what he wanted, particularly in regard to landing. “This is crap,” he told Boyce. He then went back to Ames to study the overall idea.54 Soon, JPL and Ames both were exploring the MESUR concept. In late May Briggs surfaced MESUR publicly to see if it would attract wider support.55 Meanwhile, JPL got to work on rover concepts.

Donna Shirley, the manager at the center in charge of the research on rover concepts, recalled the period as one where scientists and engineers at JPL were “excited.” She herself saw rovers as “scouts” for later human missions. The Bush decision of 1989 had encouraged JPL to work with JSC in planning for Mars

Rover Sample Return, which she called a “perfect precursor to a human mis­sion.” Also, “The scent of money in the air permeated the atmosphere,” wrote Shirley.56

At the beginning of February 1991, Bush proposed a NASA budget of $15.7 billion, a figure that would have been over 13% higher than that which Congress appropriated the year before. Space science in particular would rise 21%, to $2.1 billion.57 NASA would surely need the money to take care of all the programs under way and anticipated. Fisk presided over a science program that had been rapidly expanding. It included a Mars Observer that was rising in budget, along with a line of telescopes complementing Hubble. The new program scheduled for the sharpest rise in the future was the Earth Observing System (EOS), a suite of environmental satellites aimed at deciphering global change. This was the hardware embodiment of NASA’s MTPE activity. It was the program many scientists believed Fisk to be pursuing most avidly.58

EOS had not been his initial priority for a new start. But once he realized that the Bush administration was anxious to show support for researching global cli­mate change, he pushed EOS “with vigor.”59 All of Fisk’s programs were sched­uled to ramp up in funding in the future. New Mars precursory missions were part of the projected mix, led by MESUR, but just how was not clear.

Congress balked at Bush’s NASA request. In 1990, Bush and Congress had agreed to reduce the federal deficit by cutting expenditures and raising taxes. Bush earlier had said “read my lips” about no new taxes, but he had been forced to change his mind. Now, in 1991, the results of that White House-Congress agreement began to hit NASA. By July, the House and Senate appropriations subcommittees considering space told NASA it could not get the money it ex­pected. The Senate in particular directed NASA to think in terms of a 3% to 5% raise a year, at best. To underline that point, it cut the request of Bush substantially and told NASA to prioritize. A Senate report said NASA should “not envision any new starts” unless it could explain how it could make them “sustainable” within the agency’s “limited funding profile.”60

One way to expand possibilities was international collaboration, and the So­viet Union indicated eagerness to collaborate on Mars. But the Soviet Union was tottering politically and had huge internal schisms. In July, Bush and Gor­bachev met at a summit and sought to move cooperation in space forward. But just two weeks later, Soviet hard-liners staged a coup d’etat and briefly held Gorbachev captive. Gorbachev survived the coup attempt, but his days as So­viet leader were numbered, as were those of the Soviet Union. In December 1991, the Soviet Union disintegrated, replaced by a confederacy of independent states. It would take a while for Russia and other states emerging from the for­mer Soviet Empire to reconstitute stable governments. Collaboration on Mars was now on hold.