With assurances that the most expensive part of the satellite mission would be donated, the students organized and began an effort to build -- from scratch -- the first nano-satellite ever launched. (Satellites are commonly classified by their mass. A nano-satellite is defined as one that weighs between 2 and 22 pounds (1 and 10 kilograms).
Had the students been less eager, less determined, or less naive about what it would take to build the satellite, they might not have accepted the challenge. Recalling Orbital Science's initial offer, Brian Underhill, a student who is now program manager for the Arizona State University Satellite (ASUSAT) project said, "They said 'Yeah, we'll launch this satellite that's basically impossible to build.'"
Most engineers the students sought for guidance said as much. The advice from professionals was that the students could choose to meet a few of the design constraints, but it was futile to try to achieve them all, Underhill said.
The consensus from experts was, students could build a craft that was light and cheap, but it wouldn't be able to carry out real science. Alternately, the experts said, students could make a lightweight satellite capable of doing real science, but it would be too expensive to build because it would have to use exotic materials, and students wouldn't be able to do the engineering, Underhill explained.
That didn't sway the group, though. Determined not to waste the promise of a free launch, and eager to build their own orbiter, the students moved ahead -- but only into years of delays, dead-ends and mission re-designs.
Originally the students built a satellite in the 10-pound class that would measure the characteristics of small particles in low-Earth orbit. It was tentatively scheduled for launch into a polar orbit to an altitude of 280 miles (450 kilometers), but the customer paying for the primary-payload launch didn't want the student satellite aboard, and ASUSAT was left behind.
The students then re-configured the satellite for another launch opportunity. Because the next orbit would be to a much lower altitude, the team had to design and build another science experiment, but again, the ASU payload was bumped from the launch manifest.
"We can't afford to pay for launch, so we were at the mercy of everybody," Underhill said.
The cycle of re-design and rejection continued for more than three years. Inside that time the students decided to design a science payload that would not be orbit-dependent, one that would perform its function regardless of altitude.
They outfitted their satellite with cameras to perform an imaging mission. By this time the satellite was in its sixth iteration. Then came a break.
The Air Force announced that it would carry university payloads aboard an experimental rocket it had contracted with Orbital Sciences to develop. The rocket, which weds the two lower stages of surplus Minuteman intercontinental ballistic missiles to the upper stages of Orbital Sciences' Pegasus launch vehicle, is part of the Orbital/Suborbital Program, known as OSP-Minotaur -- an effort to use surplus rockets from Minuteman missiles for various purposes, including launching space payloads into orbit.
Orbital Science's Scott Schoneman was the mission manager and lead engineer for the program, and also happened to be working with the engineering students.
"I finally got my own launch with this OSP-Minotaur, and when it opened up to university payloads we were able to find them a home," Schoneman said.
Last summer the satellite was integrated to the JAWSAT payload, weighing in at just under 13 pounds (8 kilograms). Now -- after seven years of working around obstacles and delays, after more than 400 students have rotated through the program -- the young engineers await the ASUSAT launch, finally scheduled for Friday.
The student-built orbiter is unique not only for it's status as a nano-satellite. It stands out for its distinctive composition and several one-of-a-kind student designs. The body of the spacecraft is made of a specialized composite material that the students molded themselves. An all-composite design is still uncommon in the satellite industry, Schoneman said, as most companies rely on heavier, old-fashioned metal to a great extent.
Students designed and built the instrument's sun sensors, designed the electronics circuit boards and wrote the satellite's software codes. They even built a novel attitude-control system that should work to automatically keep the spacecraft in a stable orientation with respect to Earth.
The satellite will prove new technology, but it also proves a good deal about improvisation.
"It proves you don't have to spend the high dollar to build these components," Underhill said. "Basically we didn't know anything when we started - nobody did. We just studied up on what you really need to survive in a space environment and did it ourselves."
Helen Reed, the faculty advisor who has been helping the students, said she notices a certain confidence in the students who have been involved in the mission.
"I see the students really learning how to think through a problem because they must find a solution. The solution is not in the back of the book," Reed said. "Here they have a problem, they have a variety of solutions, they must try to come up with the best solution, so they're learning how to think critically and use all the tools that they have accumulated over the course of their academic careers."
Students graduating with real, hands-on project experience are benefiting the industry too, Schoneman said.
"It's providing a good source of new employees who already have real practical experience in satellite business, as well as some newer ideas to inject once they go into their professional careers. They help inject some of that ingenuity into the companies that may hire them."
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