Category Why Mars

Webb’s reason for concern—the diminution of political support for space— was glaringly obvious, and that worry was magnified by a disastrous unforeseen event. Shortly after the budget submission in early January 1967, the Apollo fire of January 27 occurred. It killed three astronauts while they were training at Cape Canaveral. Immediately, almost everything at NASA was put on hold, while the agency coped with the disaster and its aftermath. Webb personally dealt with the president and the congressional investigation. He got Apollo through the six-month ordeal following the fire relatively unscathed and made personnel and organizational changes that strengthened the agency and con­tractor system for completing the Apollo project. But he himself was weakened as he drew the media and political focus of the investigation to himself and shielded the organization, thereby expending much of his political capital.9

Also, opponents of NASA in Congress from both the right and left used the Apollo fire to attack NASA and siphon funds from space to other areas of spending (such as the Vietnam War and social programs for the cities). Congress wanted to make substantial cuts, not in Apollo but in other space programs, including Voyager, projected to cost in the billions over time. In the summer and fall of 1967, debate raged in Congress over the NASA budget. Johnson, meanwhile, grew desperate to find money for Vietnam and domestic priorities and to deal with a soaring federal deficit. He was even proposing a tax increase. In August, he declared that the country’s financial situation had changed over the months since he had submitted his budget. He had “to distinguish between

the necessary and the desirable.”10 Apollo was protected, but Webb had to de­cide what other priorities to keep and what to let go. Johnson gave him leeway to choose, and Congress pushed the NASA Administrator to state his priorities unequivocally. Webb strongly resisted.

The NASA Administrator wanted to keep Voyager, a key to NASA’s future after Apollo. But several senior academic scientists testified against it. Even more damaging, Webb was undermined by his own agency, or at least the Manned Spacecraft Center (MSC). In July, the Houston center had sent out a request for proposals for human missions to Mars and Venus. Webb was aghast, furi­ous with the political insensitivity of MSC. In fighting to keep Voyager against congressional budget cutters, Webb had taken great pains to link it rhetorically with scientific discovery, not human spaceflight. His allies in Congress had done the same. Virtually everyone knew that the mood of Congress and the country was against Mars decisions involving human spaceflight at this point.11

But Houston did not get the bureaucratic strategy. Legislative opponents of NASA immediately seized on the Houston announcement as ammunition in the context of Johnson’s statement about deciding “between the necessary and the desirable.” They charged that Voyager was a “foot in the door” for human spaceflight to Mars.12 Now they had what they considered the smoking gun of evidence. Support for Voyager, tenuous at best, evaporated. Saying they had to nip a covert human Mars program in the bud, legislative opponents persuaded Congress to kill Voyager in late October 1967. To make their point unmistak­ably clear, they also terminated a Mariner orbital flight of 1971 which NASA had proposed to help locate a place for Voyager to land. The only planetary mission remaining was a two-Mariner flyby of Mars for 1969. The Mars advocates and planetary science community in general were shocked, devastated, and, to some degree, chastened.

This was what Viking was all about, at least that was the message NASA had communicated to the public: the search for life. The core of the scientific team for exobiology consisted of six biologists. Lederberg was one. The leader was Harold “Chuck” Klein of Ames. Sagan was not officially on the biology team. His role was in the site-selection group. However, he was deeply involved with the exobiologists and was unquestionably Viking’s public face. Never had a NASA robotic mission been conducted in such a fishbowl environment. The media were present in force, hanging on to every word the scientists and Martin said.

Sagan had continually fanned the flames of public expectation by his com­ments. His book The Cosmic Connection had appeared in 1973 and became a best seller. He was a regular on the late-night television program the Tonight Show, hosted by Johnny Carson. While other exobiologists speculated about finding microbial life, Sagan spoke of “macrobes.” These would be organisms large enough to be seen by Viking’s camera. “For all we know,” he said, “there is a thriving population of large organisms on the planet. Nothing in our present understanding ofMars excludes this possibility.”63 Talking about Viking, Sagan’s rhetoric could soar. “Viking will be remembered, if it works, the rest of human history. It deals with the deepest question that human beings have asked as long as they have been human beings.”64 He was correct, of course, but Sagan’s parenthetical “if it works” tended to be de-emphasized in the translation from scientist to media to public. Hinners kept trying to control him to some degree, without success.65

The scientists on the biology team varied in their assessments of the pros­pects. When asked, Klein declared that “among the biologists on the team, the odds go all the way from one chance in ten down to maybe one chance in a mil­lion. Depends on which one of the biologists you talk to. Mine are one chance in 50, which I think are not bad [odds].” The key, he said, was the “payoff,” if life were found.66

Klein was worried, however, about the downside of failure. Most of the prominent scientists involved in Viking were academics. He was a government scientist and could feel the pressures of nonsuccess after such a public relations buildup (and $1 billion investment). He confided that NASA was putting too much emphasis “on the question of life.” He worried about what would happen if Viking failed to find life.67 No one knew more than he that the selection of experiments represented something of a “shotgun” approach. Were these shots in the dark despite the careful efforts of NASA and distinguished scientists? He would rather have followed the incremental approach that Murray had ex­pounded, particularly since so little was known about the surface chemistry of Mars.68 But NASA as an institution had gone for the “great leap” strategy, and he was now fully part of that effort.

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.