Preface
Space is inhuman. We can’t survive unprotected in a pure vacuum for more than a minute. Going there involves being strapped to a barely controlled chemical explosion. Low Earth orbit is equivalent to half an hour’s drive straight up, but it’s insanely expensive to get there. The set of people who have experienced zero gravity is one of the most exclusive clubs in history. Yet space travel is an expression of a fundamental human trait: the desire to explore.
This book is an exploration of the past, present, and future of space travel. We’re on the cusp of an important transition, where diverse technologies have matured to the point where space travel could be routine. A cadre of innovators and entrepreneurs is about to deliver space travel that’s not just for astronauts and the super-rich. It will happen sooner than you think.
Each of the four parts of this book is preceded by a fictional vignette delivering us into the world of a young pioneer about to undertake a journey to the stars. First, we look at the “Past” to learn about our genetic proclivity for exploration and our progress with rocketry that let us leave the Earth for the first time in the mid-twentieth century. We also learn about the highs and the lows resulting from that landmark achievement. Then, in the “Present,” we see that the malaise of the space program will be cured by a new generation of entrepreneurs who are transforming our potential to leave the planet. We examine the legal and regulatory barriers that stand in their way and consider the dangers faced by space travelers. Peering into the “Future,” we look at how we can travel to the Moon and Mars, and we investigate the technologies needed to establish colonies there. We meet the robots that will be our partners in space and we visualize a time when off-Earth humans become a new species. Finally, we speculate “Beyond” our current capabilities to the time when we can travel to the stars and become citizens of the Milky Way. In a universe built for life, our yearning for cosmic companionship is strong, and we may never realize our full potential as a species if we stay Earthbound.
I’m grateful to Anna Ghosh for stalwart support of my writing career, and Tom Mayer and Ryan Harrington at W. W. Norton for helping to forge a better book. I’ve benefited from conversations with many colleagues over the years, but any errors or misstatements that remain are my responsibility alone. My deepest gratitude goes to Dinah Jasensky for her love and encouragement of all my writing endeavors.
PART I
PRELUDE
I was four years old when I was chosen to be a Pilgrim. Too young to understand what that meant, I heard my mother try to describe it, but her words made no sense, so I fixated instead on the mixture of excitement and fear in her voice.
A few years later, the implications came into better focus. I suffered difficult years in a normal school, where I was alternately ostracized and bullied, ignored and humiliated, with a relentlessness seen only in children. To be a Pilgrim was an extraordinary honor but it marked me as different, as other. It was a relief when I was plucked from there at age eight and sent to a special school called the Academy, a school for my kind.
The Academy was in Switzerland, on a mountain lake that sparkled aquamarine in the sunlight, in a special compound where we were shielded from the media and prying eyes. There were nearly 300 of us, from more than fifty countries. We got one trip home every year but no family member could visit the school. Video chats with outsiders were limited to an hour each week. It may sound harsh, but it was for our own good.
We ranged in age from seven to twelve. I was one of the youngest. There were equal numbers of boys and girls. With so many cultures and languages represented, it could have been like Babel, so most of us wore our digital translators all the time. The curriculum was also polyglot. We studied
Space is inhuman. We can’t survive unprotected in a pure vacuum for more than a minute. Going there involves being strapped to a barely controlled chemical explosion. Low Earth orbit is equivalent to half an hour’s drive straight up, but it’s insanely expensive to get there. The set of people who have experienced zero gravity is one of the most exclusive clubs in history. Yet space travel is an expression of a fundamental human trait: the desire to explore.
This book is an exploration of the past, present, and future of space travel. We’re on the cusp of an important transition, where diverse technologies have matured to the point where space travel could be routine. A cadre of innovators and entrepreneurs is about to deliver space travel that’s not just for astronauts and the super-rich. It will happen sooner than you think.
Each of the four parts of this book is preceded by a fictional vignette delivering us into the world of a young pioneer about to undertake a journey to the stars. First, we look at the “Past” to learn about our genetic proclivity for exploration and our progress with rocketry that let us leave the Earth for the first time in the mid-twentieth century. We also learn about the highs and the lows resulting from that landmark achievement. Then, in the “Present,” we see that the malaise of the space program will be cured by a new generation of entrepreneurs who are transforming our potential to leave the planet. We examine the legal and regulatory barriers that stand in their way and consider the dangers faced by space travelers. Peering into the “Future,” we look at how we can travel to the Moon and Mars, and we investigate the technologies needed to establish colonies there. We meet the robots that will be our partners in space and we visualize a time when off-Earth humans become a new species. Finally, we speculate “Beyond” our current capabilities to the time when we can travel to the stars and become citizens of the Milky Way. In a universe built for life, our yearning for cosmic companionship is strong, and we may never realize our full potential as a species if we stay Earthbound.
I’m grateful to Anna Ghosh for stalwart support of my writing career, and Tom Mayer and Ryan Harrington at W. W. Norton for helping to forge a better book. I’ve benefited from conversations with many colleagues over the years, but any errors or misstatements that remain are my responsibility alone. My deepest gratitude goes to Dinah Jasensky for her love and encouragement of all my writing endeavors.
PART I
PRELUDE
I was four years old when I was chosen to be a Pilgrim. Too young to understand what that meant, I heard my mother try to describe it, but her words made no sense, so I fixated instead on the mixture of excitement and fear in her voice.
A few years later, the implications came into better focus. I suffered difficult years in a normal school, where I was alternately ostracized and bullied, ignored and humiliated, with a relentlessness seen only in children. To be a Pilgrim was an extraordinary honor but it marked me as different, as other. It was a relief when I was plucked from there at age eight and sent to a special school called the Academy, a school for my kind.
The Academy was in Switzerland, on a mountain lake that sparkled aquamarine in the sunlight, in a special compound where we were shielded from the media and prying eyes. There were nearly 300 of us, from more than fifty countries. We got one trip home every year but no family member could visit the school. Video chats with outsiders were limited to an hour each week. It may sound harsh, but it was for our own good.
We ranged in age from seven to twelve. I was one of the youngest. There were equal numbers of boys and girls. With so many cultures and languages represented, it could have been like Babel, so most of us wore our digital translators all the time. The curriculum was also polyglot. We studied
Similar Books
