Category Why Mars

NASA began its martian quest with a long-term program called Mariner. It planned a series of increasingly challenging probes. The Apollo Moon decision indirectly helped martian advocates. Apollo raised the level of NASA funding enormously. More money overall gave more money to Mariner. Mars enthusi­asts had resources they needed to get started in a serious way. There was politi­cal consensus around Apollo and Mariner.

Adopting Mariner

Work on NASA’s program to Mars began at the Jet Propulsion Laboratory even before JPL had official blessings from headquarters. In 1959, Pickering told his JPL colleagues to start creating a “planetary machine.”1 JPL then formulated requirements for a spacecraft that could travel enormous distances, survive a very long time, carry sophisticated and vulnerable scientific instruments, and transmit data back to Earth. The Soviets were working on such a spacecraft, but they had not succeeded in launching one as yet. Pickering assigned John Casani, a young engineer who had joined JPL in 1956, to take charge of the initial plan­ning and design effort.

Casani formed a team of JPL specialists to tackle this exceptional challenge. They would aim at Venus and Mars. Pickering organized the planetary team so as to separate it from the lunar group. The lunar team was under much stricter

deadlines. The planetary group had deadlines also, but a decision to develop hardware had yet to be made. Moreover, the planetary unit could learn lessons from its lunar colleagues.

Casani had no illusions about the difficulty. He recalled his feeling at the time: “It would take a colossal effort on the part of an enormous number of people.”2 JPL planned a program, successive flights over a decade or more, with each more technically ambitious than the preceding one. In early i960, JPL briefed Glennan on its plans: “first planetary flybys, then planetary orbiters, then orbiter-landers.” As before, Glennan insisted that the planetary program not get in the way of the lunar activity. Pickering was equally insistent about JPL interests. JPL would give lunar Ranger launches priority, but once this series was completed, JPL wanted “the major program activity of the laboratory” to be planetary flight.3

The discussions and negotiations continued, with Newell playing a mediating role. Glennan wanted to run a cost-conscious, technically sound agency, with clear priorities, and he intended to hold the reins on Mars enthusiasts. Never­theless, on July 15, i960, Glennan officially approved the proposed planetary program, to be called Mariner.4 A month later, NASA Headquarters authorized JPL to move forward with development. The issue was now not whether to go to Mars, but how quickly.

Pace would depend on many factors, especially resources. Resources, how­ever, were related not just to JPL and other NASA interests but to NASA’s priority in national policy generally. That in turn depended on Cold War com­petition with the Soviet Union, which also had its eye on Mars. The Soviet planetary program, like that of lunar exploration, was well ahead of the U. S. program. The leader of the entire Soviet space effort, Sergey Korolev, was a brilliant rocket engineer who dreamed of sending human beings to the Red Planet. The Soviet premier, Nikita Khrushchev, understood how space exploits could advance his nation’s prestige, and he provided ample resources to Korolev. As in the United States, Korolev made the Moon the immediate priority for spaceflight. However, it was Mars that fired his imagination. When he spoke of Mars, his excitement showed, and he could become almost “ecstatic” over the possibility of exploring Mars.5 Robotic probes would precede human ventures. In 1958, he had directed his space organization to start working on robotic flight to Mars. Mars and Earth would come into proximity every two years; he tar­geted i960, the nearest opportunity for the first try with a flyby.6

In October i960, Khrushchev came to New York to address the United Na­tions. Visiting Eisenhower, he gave the president replicas of Soviet pennants Luna 2, the Soviet probe that had struck the Moon earlier, carried. Khrushchev had a replica of another, more advanced spaceship that presumably he would show if the Soviet Mars probe succeeded. It was launched also in October, but it fell back to Earth and crashed in Soviet territory.7 That the Soviets were trying hard was now known unmistakably by the United States. The political impera­tive behind the Mars program gathered force.

Competition was fanned by John Kennedy, elected president in November. During the campaign, he pledged to speed up the U. S. space program so the United States could overtake the Soviet Union. He linked U. S. fortunes in space to a national security issue: the “missile gap.”

In 1974, technological development continued and progress was painstakingly made. One reason for the progress was that NASA was pouring more money into Viking. If NASA could not get funds from OMB/White House and Con­gress, it reprogrammed funds from other accounts. The result was that Viking’s budget escalated and Congress grew restive over what it called overruns. Under congressional pressure, top NASA officials evaluated the project. Viking was up to $930 million in cost. Given other expenses, Viking was well into the billion – dollar class of major projects. NASA had to postpone other new starts to pay for Viking.23

In March, Fletcher appointed Rocco Petrone, director of the Marshall Space

Flight Center, NASA associate administrator (“general manager”), the number three position in the agency. He replaced Newell, who had retired in late 1973. Petrone had a reputation for being a hard-nosed and tough manager. Fletcher appointed Naugle to be Petrone’s deputy. Noel Hinners, a 38-year-old NASA geochemist who had headed lunar programs, took Naugle’s position as associate administrator for space science and applications. Low, the deputy administrator, also wanted to replace Martin as project manager, not because of anything he had done wrong, but because Low felt “a fresh look” could “clean up the prob­lems, and provide new impetus to the project.” Naugle and Cortright argued vehemently against what they believed would be a major disruption in Viking. Low pulled back.24

Petrone announced he would enforce cost discipline in regard to Viking. NASA had little choice but to do so. In August, Congress specifically warned NASA to stop reprogramming funds from other missions to rescue Viking and scheduled hearings on Viking for November to underline its concern.25 Never­theless, Hinners got a call from Cortright. “I need $30 million more for Viking,” he said. Hinners refused. A half hour later, he received a call from Low, who said, “Give him the money, Viking is important. [We] can’t afford to have it fail. It is a priority.” Hinners dipped into his reserves without taking it from other programs.26

With congressional hearings approaching, Petrone and Hinners established budget caps for Viking, and Petrone stated that any deviation from the caps would require his personal approval. Viking managers would have to document attempts to find economies within the project budget before asking headquar­ters for any additional money. Petrone himself had a reserve set aside for emer­gencies, but he emphasized he would keep close control of it where Viking was concerned. He required Hinners to supply him “with weekly status reports on project costs and manpower levels for Martin Marietta, JPL, TRW, and Honey­well throughout the winter of 1974.” Petrone not only followed the numbers but specifically directed Martin Marietta, the prime contractor, to work harder. To save money, Petrone and Hinners killed a backup Viking 3 system that was being built as a contingency in case either of the two Vikings ran into trouble, along with various other organizational adjustments.27

Hence, when congressional hearings by the House subcommittee oversee­ing space science took place in November, Petrone and other NASA officials could claim strong action to control costs. Petrone declared he “drew the line” on Viking costs, and Langley and other managers would have to answer to him

if they wanted to cross that line. A congressional staffer told the media after the hearings that NASA had to be careful about cost escalation. “The space program,” he said, “is sort of a national luxury—like a mink coat for your wife. It’s a nice thing to do if you can afford it.”28

The Mars Observer project kept Mars exploration alive in the mid – and late 1980s, but not in a manner that Mars advocates desired. Within NASA’s Sci­ence Directorate, Mars policy fell to Briggs, the planetary director, as superiors concentrated on other matters. Briggs found little support for going beyond Observer and raising Mars exploration’s status. He “made peace with the Mars program as it was,” not as he wished it to be. “I was not chaffing to get its en­largement. My goal was to implement the SSEC core program, particularly the inner planets and the Mars Observer.”1 It was clear to external advocates that they had to press NASA harder if they were to get the kind of Mars program they wanted.

Advocates like Carl Sagan hoped that the Soviet Union, as a competitor or ally, could help revitalize Mars exploration in the United States. His was an end run around NASA and the space policy subsystem, which he saw as weighted against Mars as a priority. He looked for national and international policy al­lies. But to succeed in this macropolitical strategy, the Soviets would have to be successful technically.

Sagan looked to the White House to resurrect the Mars exploration pro­gram—and NASA generally. He and like-minded proponents did so before and after the Space Shuttle Challenger disaster of 1986. Challenger adversely affected the agency, but it did bring NASA to presidential attention. Would

presidential interest make a difference for Mars? It did not do so in the case of Ronald Reagan. President George H. W. Bush, however, made a human space­flight decision in 1989 to go back to the Moon and on to Mars. The political environment for Mars policy thus wound up better at the beginning of the 1990s than it had been 10 years before. It was a long and torturous haul, but outside and inside advocates succeeded in moving Mars higher on the NASA agenda over the course of a decade.

The politically driven financial constraints came at a time of renewed scientific optimism about the potential for life on Mars. The optimism derived mainly from discoveries on Earth and the distant cosmos. Research since Viking was turning up increasing evidence that hardy microbes and other organisms could thrive on Earth in the most unlikely and hostile places, where it was incredibly hot or cold. Indeed, these beings were accorded the name “extremophiles.”

Mike Carr commented to the media, “We’re in a different world. Our under­standing of biology has advanced so much in the past 20 years. The probability that life could have started on Mars has greatly increased.”3Another stimulus for renewed scientific optimism about Mars lay with discoveries far from Earth and the Red Planet. Scientists in the mid-1990s were beginning to discover evidence of planets around distant stars. These discoveries, which were of Jupiter-sized planets, gave hope that, sooner or later, astronomers would detect Earth-like planets.4

These remarkable discoveries on Earth and in the cosmos not only stim­ulated renewed hope about Mars but also helped spawn planning for a new initiative at NASA called “Origins” which would link planetary research with research in the cosmos around a theme of how the universe and life began. It was a theme that echoed much of Sagan’s writing, and Sagan continued as a close Goldin advisor. Goldin and Huntress strained to find money to nurture the new venture, which they hoped would help reignite public interest in the space program. Michael Meyer, who headed exobiology studies under Huntress, recalled that Goldin “knew taxpayers were not interested in NASA for science’s sake. The public cared about human exploration and the search for life. Goldin also was interested in biology. He thought that was the next frontier. Goldin had Huntress and me in for talks. He spoke with me alone. I would get a call from him. It was a ‘heady’ experience.”5

Senator Barbara Mikulski (D-MD), a staunch NASA supporter, was alarmed about NASA’s fiscal future and pressure to downsize employment, especially as it affected facilities in her state.6 She pressured Clinton and Gore to have a “space summit” to discuss NASA’s perilous future and what could be done about it.

In July 1996, the last Case for Mars conference took place at Boulder—at least under Underground auspices. Most of the original leaders of the Mars Underground had moved on. Chris McKay and Carol Stoker had gone to work for NASA. The current leaders of the Underground believed they had accom­plished their objectives in keeping the dream of Mars exploration alive. Now Robert Zubrin, a firebrand engineer formerly of Martin Marietta, was poised to take a leadership role in outside advocacy, writing and speaking evangeli­cally about Mars.7 In two years, he would form a new organized interest group, the Mars Society. Its orientation was emphatically on the human program (in contrast to the Planetary Society, which emphasized exploration in general). He would also publish a book in 1997 called The Case for Mars, the title being that used by the Mars Underground for its conferences.8

All Mars advocates knew that the human and robotic Mars programs were potentially mutually supportive. But Zubrin held that human spaceflight should drive the robotic program and its priorities. Advocates of robotic efforts, in con­trast, emphasized that science objectives were significant in themselves. In July, Ed Stone, director of the Jet Propulsion Laboratory, argued that the robotic program deserved support on its own merits. At this point in history, Stone de­clared, robotic explorers were essential. “At least for the questions we’re smart enough to ask right now, robotic missions will suffice,” he said. “Eventually, we may get to a set of questions where humans on the surface may be crucial,” he declared. But not now, Stone insisted. Zubrin and those who followed him strongly disagreed.9

The dilemma for NASA was that there was not enough money for the desired robotic Mars program, much less human spaceflight to Mars. NASA needed cooperation among its conflicting constituencies in a time of threat. Huntress and Goldin believed that Origins conveyed an all-embracing purpose for space exploration, whether by machines or humans. Origins was not a specific pro­gram, but a theme to which various activities of NASA could contribute and which might be exciting to the public. Now the question was how to market this theme.

On April 7, the first mission in the new program, Odyssey, was successfully launched. It began its long journey to Mars as the Bush budget details became known. In a speech he gave before the National Press Club a few days after the Odyssey launch, Hubbard alluded to the White House support for Mars exploration. He said the additional funds promised were assurance that future missions had resources they needed to succeed. He noted that the budget would make sure the 2005 mission, the Mars Reconnaissance Orbiter, “has the full set of science instruments that we’ve been talking about,” and would allow NASA even to begin developing technologies for MSR.

He said NASA would in 2007 launch its first scout mission conceived by the scientific community and industry. In 2009, NASA planned to launch an­other sophisticated orbiter, possibly with international partners. This mission was present for the first time as a result of favorable budget trends, Hubbard declared. Indeed, he said that MSR might be possible in a 2011 launch.5

Garvin, meanwhile, wasted no time in taking advantage of what he saw as a window of opportunity for a Mars initiative. He was a man whose office answer­ing machine extolled, “Have a great Mars day!” Garvin matched Goldin in his zeal for the Red Planet. As soon as he was sure that OMB and the White House supported the Mars program, he moved to clarify scientific and engineering re­

quirements for the Mars Smart Lander. He did so by organizing a Science Defi­nition Team. NASA was not going to have two MSLs. But maybe the one MSL NASA could send to Mars would be even more capable than what Hubbard and his team had originally conceived. What was implicit in the thinking of Garvin and other Mars enthusiasts was how to move forward more rapidly toward MSR. In discussions with OMB and Mars scientists, Garvin found agreement that Mars Smart Lander was especially important in developing technologies for MSR. If MSR was an end, then each mission leading to it had to be justified as means. Each mission had to build on a predecessor and show real progress. That was the quid pro quo between NASA and OMB in garnering White House backing for its long-term program.

While Garvin maneuvered in Washington, as well as with the Jet Propulsion Laboratory and the Mars science community, Hubbard held discussions with possible international partners, especially Russia. These did not lead very far.6 Tired but elated, Hubbard decided it was time for him to leave the nation’s capital. Satisfied that the new Mars program was off to the best start possible with a good funding prognosis, Hubbard on April 19 announced he was step­ping down as headquarters Mars director. He and his wife, he said, wanted to return to California and Ames. He said he had promised Goldin and Weiler a year to fix the Mars program, and that year was up. Weiler praised Hubbard effusively and said he had taken on “mission impossible” and converted it into “mission accomplished.” Orlando Figueroa, a veteran NASA manager, would succeed Hubbard.7

Figueroa inherited a Mars program moving quickly, with significant change under way where Mars Smart Lander was concerned. There was growing con­sensus among Mars advocates that Mars Smart Lander could and should be augmented. The original emphasis of Mars Smart Lander, as the name implied, was precision landing. It was seen initially as a technology pathfinder.8 In the first half of 2001, and later into the summer and fall, it became increasingly clear that the Bush White House was supportive of robotic Mars exploration. In this political context, the Mars Smart Lander gradually morphed into the Mars Sci­ence Laboratory. Garvin provided leadership within headquarters for the change of emphasis, but the shift reflected widespread support at JPL and in the Mars science community for augmenting the science laboratory—that is, rover—com­ponent of the mission. As the orientation of the device altered, so did its name.

What evolved was the sense that MSL should be substantially more capable in performing science than Pathfinder and the two rovers that would be launched

in 2003. One way MSL could be significantly better would be if it were nuclear powered. The 2003 Mars Exploration Rovers (MER)—known as Spirit and Op­portunity—would be solar powered. That limited their range and capacity to work at night. A nuclear-powered rover would not have that limit and could do so much more, so much longer, planners reasoned.

Garvin and his associates took their case to Weiler. They argued the merits of a nuclear-powered rover. Weiler had been a scientific leader of the Hubble proj­ect. He was a telescope man. The Mars advocates called MSL an “observatory on wheels.” Weiler saw the merits of nuclear technology. He agreed.9 And so did OMB and the Bush White House. Sean O’Keefe, the politically appointed deputy director of OMB, Isakowitz’s boss, had been secretary of the navy under the first Bush. He had seen the value of nuclear propulsion for ships. A nuclear proponent, he now also saw the value of nuclear propulsion for spacecraft.

Fisk and the SSB were able to elicit from Griffin and Congress approval to try to reach a consensus among space scientists which would provide guidance for policymakers in funding decisions.34 Thus, in March, an ad hoc group of two dozen senior scientists from various disciplines convened in a Washington, D. C., conference room to see if they could work together rather than as rivals in setting priorities. After hours of debate, the group found basic agreement on certain principles, such as the importance of smaller missions. What that meant for big missions, such as the MSL, was not clear.

The group did not identify specific trade-offs. The vice chairman of the SSB, George Paulikas, did not promise that the scientists could do that. Asked about how the scientists would spread pain among themselves, he told a reporter, “Stay tuned.”35 The ad hoc group would meet again to try to be more specific.

While NASA and the Mars scientific community fretted and argued about cuts to future opportunities, implementation of the existing Mars program con­tinued to go smoothly. On March 10, MRO successfully sailed into the correct orbit to take the next step in Mars exploration. Launched in April 2005, the $720 million spacecraft carried six state-of-the-art instruments, including ground – penetrating radar.

MRO’s goals were to provide new knowledge about surface features, recon­naissance for future landings, communications for future rovers and landers, and clues to life, past or present. In line with the scientific strategy, it would “follow the water.” It had flown 300 million miles by the time it swung into Mars orbit. Then it disappeared for a half hour, dropping out of radio contact. When it emerged, it signaled that all was well.

“Look at that!” yelled an engineer at JPL mission control. “Right on the money!” shouted another.36 McCuistion announced his delight with the way the mission was going. MRO would take over for Mars Global Surveyor, whose mission had extended far longer than expected. MRO, along with the European orbiter and two U. S. rovers, solidified the fact that spacefaring nations were cre­ating what JPL director Elachi called a “permanent [robotic] presence” around another planet.37

On March 29, McCuistion came to a meeting of the SSB to present a pos­sible Mars program that had been scaled back to fit into a $6oo-million-a-year expenditure stretching into the future. This was still the major program in the planetary sciences, he explained, but NASA simply could not do all that it had hoped to do. The agency was developing plans for the period extending from 2011 to 2016, and he wanted the board’s views as soon as possible. In 2011, a relatively small Scout mission would go up under the reoriented effort. In 2013, NASA proposed to send the Mars Telecommunications Orbiter, which had been killed earlier. The next launch window would come 26 months later, falling in 2016. NASA was considering a successor to MSL called the Astrobiology Field Laboratory. This mission was aimed at finding evidence of life. If that mission did not work out, perhaps a repeat of Spirit and Opportunity, but with more sophisticated rovers, might be an option, he said.

Actually returning samples to look for life was not on the agenda at all, unless NASA could get other spacefaring nations to help finance such a mission. Mc – Cuistion tried to look on the positive side—$600 million a year was still a lot of money for one planet. But he could not contain his frustration: “Are we a little fragile?” he asked. “Yeah, we are a little fragile. But we still have a program that’s viable for the next decade.”38

In early May, the SSB again convened a group of leading scientists to help it determine priorities to recommend to NASA. Seventy attended, meeting at the University of Maryland at College Park. Speaking to the group, Griffin admitted, “I made a mistake. I made commitments in advance that I wasn’t able to keep.”39 The scientists divided into four groups. One was devoted to the planetary sciences. The cut in science funding had fallen heavily on the plan­etary scientists. This was in part due to the nature of the field. Missions were separable, whereas astronomy consisted chiefly of a few large telescope projects, one of which—the James Webb Space Telescope—was suffering a huge over­run destined to grow. Also, astronomers were relatively cohesive on priorities, whereas planetary scientists seldom united.

As the largest subgroup among the planetary scientists, the Mars research­ers especially needed to cohere around their preferences. The Mars scientists, however, were unable to agree on much. One mission with which they grappled was a small Scout mission scheduled for 2011. Should it go as planned or be modified, deferred, or cancelled? When the Mars scientists began to discuss the 2011 mission, six members of the group had to recuse themselves because they had proposals pending on this mission. “We can’t very well make a decision to cancel the Scout mission after all the qualified people have left the room,” said the chair of the group, Sean Solomon, of the Carnegie Institution of Washing­ton. “We’re going to punt. Our hands are tied by legal restrictions.”40

Legal restrictions were not the only issue. Many of the planetary scientists were fierce competitors. When all was said and done, they could not get beyond general guidelines. The SSB called the existing NASA program “fundamentally unstable [and] seriously unbalanced.”41 The balance to which the SSB referred primarily involved the ratio of big and small science. But critics of this view at the College Park meeting noted that many “big science” missions provided a substantial number of subcontracts to individual investigators and their gradu­ate students. Also, in the Earth observation field, many satellites were character­ized as “moderate” in size. Where did such a concept fit in the overall scheme of expenditures?

The effort to involve a larger body of scientists in setting science policy at NASA was of limited help to agency officials as they struggled to define what NASA would do in the future. The next scheduled mission, to go up in 2007, was a Scout mission called Phoenix. A stationary lander, Phoenix made use of concepts that were intended for the ill-fated Mars Polar Lander. Sensors that had been devised for that failed mission could be put to use with Phoenix. Its very name came from the mythical bird that died in a fire, only to be reborn from the ashes. Phoenix would arise from the ashes of MPL.

As planning got under way, a heated debate erupted between the Obama White House and Congress. It was over the human spaceflight program but affected everything else at NASA, including Mars policy. In February 2010, Obama an­nounced his proposed budget for NASA for the new fiscal year. It provided additional funds but did not start the agency on the $3 billion increment for which the Augustine panel had called. Instead, it terminated Constellation and announced a new program to nurture a commercial industry to ferry crew to the International Space Station, given the looming retirement of the Space Shuttle. It did not give a destination for human spaceflight. Its emphasis was made on a new technology development initiative. There had been no preparation of Congress for the drastic change in policy. NASA, including its Administrator, had largely been left out of the White House decision process.

Congress reacted strongly, immediately, and negatively to the policy. Led by representatives of states with human spaceflight facilities, Congress rejected the Obama plan. In April, Obama sought to assuage Congress by calling for a trip to an asteroid in 2025 and to Mars in the mid-2030s. The Orion space capsule, cancelled along with the rest of Constellation, would be reprieved in the form of a crew-rescue vehicle. A decision on the heavy-lift rocket would be made before the end of his term, President Obama said. The president did not succeed in blunting the rancor. In this environment, little attention was given to robotic Mars policy.

In July 2010, NASA published a report on its current strategic plan for SMD. With respect to MEP, NASA declared that it would seek to launch “successive missions to Mars (roughly every 26 months) to evolve a scientifically integrated architecture of orbiters, landers, and rovers.” It said that the existing program organized around projects to “follow the water” was achieving its objectives and announced NASA’s new goal: “seeking signs of life.” NASA made it clear that it aimed ultimately at “collection and return of samples from Mars.” It said it planned to achieve this goal with ESA. NASA proclaimed that the transition from the agency’s present to its longer-term future would be led by “the next quantum leap in Mars exploration: the Mars Science Laboratory.”31

SMD knew precisely what it wanted to do. But NASA as a whole did not, caught as it was between the president and Congress. In October, Congress and the president agreed on a compromise. Part of Constellation came back with new names. Ares I was killed in favor of a commercial industry to be created to service ISS. Rather than waiting, NASA would move ahead as quickly as pos­sible on the Ares V heavy-lift rocket (now called Space Launch System [SLS]). The Orion space capsule would be developed, now named Multi-Purpose Crew Vehicle (MPCV). The asteroid and Mars destinations stayed. Bush’s Moon des­tination was gone.

This compromise did not end the debate, as struggles over funding continued for many months afterward. Also, in November, elections put the Republicans in charge of the House and narrowed the Democrats’ majority in the Senate. It was obvious that getting decisions made on NASA policy and budget generally would be extremely difficult.

In early February 2011, President Obama announced his budget for FY 2012. For NASA, there was a freeze—$18.7 billion, the same budget it received in 2010. For the current fiscal year (FY 2011), NASA awaited action by Congress. The power struggle between the Democratic-controlled White House and di­vided Congress had resulted in no budget from the Hill. NASA operated under a continuing resolution that held its budget static at the previous year’s spend­ing. The political and fiscal conflict hindered implementation of existing mis­sions and planning for the future.

The White House projection in the budget for NASA and especially the planetary program was ominous. It showed spending on planetary science increasing by $180 million the next year, to $1.54 billion, and then declining steadily to $1.25 billion by 2016.

One important aspect of the policy continuity arising from Obama’s reelection lay with discussions among NASA, OMB, and the Office of Science and Tech­nology Policy about the FY 2014 budget. While that budget, as well as any pos­sible statement about a longer-term Mars Next Decade program, awaited the president’s budget announcement in early 2013, there were positive negotiations focused on the near-term issue of a Mars launch in 2018 or 2020.

Grunsfeld, like Weiler, dealt with OMB. OSTP was also involved in nego­tiations from a policy perspective. Typically, OMB was far more powerful than OSTP unless the president made his perspective clear. In other words, budget usually drove policy. However, Obama had spoken of his desire to personally “protect” the Mars investment. Directly or indirectly, the Obama view meant that policy could drive budget, at least to some extent, at least for this moment.

On December 4, Grunsfeld came to a “town hall” meeting of the Ameri­can Geophysical Union fall conference in San Francisco. Excitedly, he an­nounced that the White House had approved a $1.5 billion Mars mission for 2020. Grunsfield said he had wanted to launch in 2018, but became convinced it would be better to wait for 2020 and go for another rover. The science “action is now on the surface” of Mars, he said. The White House had authorized the mission—and, presumably, the early announcement.

How that rover would be designed and what it would do remained to be determined. He said he was setting up a science definition team to help answer these questions. An MSR cache was possible.

Significantly, he praised OMB and OSTP for their assistance in making this new mission possible. Clearly, the successful landing of MSL Curiosity had made a difference in the decision-making process. Grunsfeld called Mars “a spe­cial place.” The scientific audience was said to be somewhat in a state of “shock.” No one had expected this announcement. Ordinarily, it would have come later, if at all, in connection with the FY 2014 budget statement. The White House was sending a message of support for NASA and the Mars community.36

This was a time of extreme budgetary and political turmoil. But there was hope and even some optimism for the future of the Mars program.

When Kennedy took office in January 1961, he learned that the missile gap did not exist. Also, he had many priorities other than space. While willing to aug­ment NASA’s budget, he did not see a particular urgency to do so immediately. Then came Yuri Gagarin’s April flight in space. The first human in space was a Russian. This was another blow to U. S. pride and prestige, one on which Khrushchev fully capitalized. Soon afterward, Kennedy suffered another per­sonal defeat when the Bay of Pigs invasion of Cuba failed ignominiously. He directed his vice president, Lyndon Johnson, to come up with a program he could back which would garner the United States a visible and dramatic victory in the Cold War contest with the Soviet Union. Johnson came back with what would be called Project Apollo. The proposal bore the imprint of Kennedy’s NASA Administrator, James Webb.8

In May, Kennedy addressed Congress and declared his belief that the United States “should commit itself to achieving the goal, before the decade is out, of landing a man on the Moon and returning him safely to the Earth.”9 This was a race with the Soviet Union Kennedy affirmed the United States would win. What was most important about this decision for the robotic Mars exploration program—Mariner—was that it made NASA a “presidential” agency. That is, NASA was now a priority for the nation, and its program mattered greatly to the president. All of a sudden, NASA could get resources from the White House and Congress for virtually anything it wanted to do—including robotic Mars exploration.

Kennedy’s decision reinforced the Moon as NASA’s priority. However, it was a major punctuation point for Mars because it removed the financial reins on

the planetary program. As Newell wrote, “The renewed sense of urgency that the Apollo decision bestowed on the space program made Webb’s task [as NASA Administrator] one of loosening the shackles imposed by the previous admin­istration and stepping up the pace.”10 Webb told NASA (and later President Kennedy in a memorable White House debate the two men had) that Apollo was not only an end of the space program but a means to a broader national goal: preeminence. That latter goal meant advancing all NASA programs, not just human spaceflight.

Immediately after the Apollo speech, Kennedy increased NASA’s budget by 89% and by another 101% the following year.11 Employment at NASA surged apace. The 54-year-old Webb was neither scientist nor engineer. Trained as a lawyer, he had vast experience in government and business management. He was unusually politically skilled. Moreover, he showed a strong appreciation for science. Soon after the Apollo decision, he reorganized NASA. In doing so, he established the Office of Space Science and Applications (OSSA) with a status independent of and equal to that of the newly created Office of Manned Space Flight (OMSF). He also promoted Newell to associate administrator for space science, a level identical to that of the director of OMSF. All programs became far bigger and moved far faster. With Webb’s vigorous backing, NASA acted to create a new space science community, pouring money into universities for research and graduate fellowships. This community consisted of those in tra­ditional disciplines (e. g., geology, meteorology, chemistry, biology, and others) eager to extend their work to outer space and the planets. NASA was building a constituency that would help support the agency and its goals. That constitu­ency included a small band of scientists who called themselves exobiologists.

Senior NASA officials were intensely involved with Viking and its implementa­tion. Mindful of the huge cost escalation, they also discussed, behind the scenes, how Viking could help promote NASA, and vice versa. Sagan was especially critical of NASA’s public relations policies. He and Low had dinner one evening in September 1974 to ponder what to do about NASA’s need for more public support.29

Fletcher continued to think beyond Viking to possible follow-ons. Viking was one mission, one project. Should it not be the first step in a long-term program of Mars exploration? Only Viking was approved. Given lead times on development and windows of opportunity for Mars flights, NASA had to begin soon to advocate follow-ons to the White House and Congress. Issues of technology and funding were critical. What was possible? What could NASA afford? Should NASA send a mission in 1979—the next window—or wait? In November 1973, Fletcher had written the chairman of the Atomic Energy Com­mission (AEC), Dixie Lee Ray, that NASA might need the nuclear batteries AEC supplied (called RTGs) for future Viking flights. These could include roving vehicles. Nothing was firm of course, but he wanted to alert her of his thinking.30

Fletcher kept in close touch with Martin, and the Viking project manager proposed that while Viking 3 had been killed, the spare parts for the backup were still there and could be assembled as part of a post-Viking venture. Cortright, Langley’s director, also lobbied Fletcher, writing him in July to propose sending a lander-rover combination—a “Viking ’79 mission.”31 Hinners, however, told Fletcher and Low in November 1974 that a follow-on in the near future was not likely given his office’s budget and competing priorities. The National Academy of Sciences Space Science Board had done studies for NASA about post-Viking projects, he pointed out. The “benchmark” for Mars exploration had to be an MSR mission, the board asserted. This was the best way to get at the life issue. At the same time, the board preached “balance” in the planetary program in the future. Hinners said that the way spending was going and with other large missions waiting, he could not see how NASA could launch a sample return mis­sion before the 1990s. Missions prior to MSR, by implication, such as the rover, might also have to wait beyond a date his office had studied, 1984.32

This was not what Fletcher wanted to hear. The question of an MSR mission was of such significance, the NASA Administrator said, that he would not wish to foreclose it indirectly by budget decisions that locked NASA into a particular trajectory. He said he might even take the question to the president—that is, keeping the option alive by getting more ample funding.33 Low told Hinners not to take any “irreversible steps” precluding sending a rover. But he also directed him not “to spend any significant resources on it since it is very unlikely that this will be an early start.”34

Richard Goody, the chair of the SSB, captured the dominant mood of the scientific community in connection with Viking and what could come next. In comments to the media in December, he held that it was unlikely NASA would find life on Mars, but if it did, the whole future of Martian exploration would be affected. He declared, “You really can’t make any decisions [about follow-ons] until you see what Viking does.”35

So, Fletcher waited on advocating a Mars program beyond Viking. The good news, however, was that, as 1974 ended, NASA knew that it had a better chance to win the Mars race with the Soviets and possibly make history by finding life using robotic techniques with its stationary landers. In 1973, in an effort to beat the United States to Mars, the Soviet Union had sent two orbiters and two landers (four separate probes). If successful, the Soviets would land in 1974, well ahead of the United States. But all failed in one way or another. One orbiter flew past Mars. Another orbiter arrived and returned limited data before failing. A lander died within seconds of reaching the surface. Another lander separated early from its mother ship and missed the planet. The Soviets, bitterly disap­pointed, chose not to launch in 1975.36