Richard Branson has always been a daredevil. His sailing and ballooning adventures have been ingrained in the public consciousness for so long that you can find parodies of him from way back in 2004. He isn't just a rich thrill-seeker. He wants to do great things. There's no greater why than "because it's there" (credit to George Mallory).
Modeled after the X-series rocket plane famous for Chuck Yeager's sound barrier-breaking flight in 1947, Branson's Unity drop-launched from its mothership and shot to an altitude of 53.5 miles before gliding back down to Earth on Sunday. According to the FAA, which marks the boundary of space at 50 miles up, Branson's an astronaut now. Next year he'll start charging people $250,000 for the same experience.
While the flight was a technical success, investors sold the hype. The stock sale that immediately followed did not go as planned. As of this writing, Virgin Galactic's market cap has fallen 20% since trading opened on Monday.
Next week it'll be Jeff Bezos's turn. The founder and former CEO of Amazon will fly in the New Shepard crew capsule in the nose of a reusable rocket launched from West Texas. After reaching a marginally higher altitude than Branson's Unity, the crew capsule will separate from the rocket and descend back to the desert via parachutes. Bezos's company, Blue Origin, has yet to take reservations for commercial flights.
With all due respect, these personal breakthroughs into suborbital space are sideshows to the main event. Artemis 1 is still on for November, and NASA just awarded the Lunar Gateway contract to Northrup Grumman for a cool billion dollars. Skeptical as I am of the long-term prospects of the Moon, it's obvious the powers that be are looking at Artemis to gauge our readiness for Mars. In that respect, I'm keen on Artemis succeeding.
It's unclear at this point what purpose Virgin Galactic and Blue Origin serve in the interests of space exploration. Sailing the Atlantic, which Branson has done, or climbing Everest requires skill, stamina, and willpower that few people have. Branson and Bezos exhibit those traits in building their aerospace companies from the ground up. But that's not what they're selling. They're selling rides. Frankly a day pass to Six Flags is a better deal.
Early in my book Tendrils to the Moon, billionaire Wayne Sheridan is confronted by his colleagues who want to stay in Earth orbit rather than press on to the Moon. Bit by the comfort bug, they became complacent and lazy. His contempt for the proposed change of plans is palpable, and you the reader are supposed to side with him. People don't risk life and limb to settle for half-measures. They want to do something fantastic, something that'll stretch them physically and mentally. Sheridan's decision to take his crew and forge ahead on his own is both his finest moment and the seed of his downfall.
If that interests you, you can find an extended preview of Tendrils to the Moon here. As always, let me know what you think in the comments. I'll reply back as soon as I can.
You have a point there that these private ventures aren't really pushing the envelope of actual space-exploration, but nothing could inspire the public in the overall effort like a bit of orbital sightseeing.
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