Vehicle and Mission Design Options for the Human Exploration of Mars/Phobos Using "Bimodal" NTR and LANTR Propulsion

The nuclear thermal rocket (NTR) is one of the leading propulsion options for future human missions to Mars because of its high specific impulse (Isp-850-1000 s) capability and its attractive engine thrust-to-weight ratio (approximately equal 3-10). To stay within the available mass and payload volume limits of a "Magnum" heavy lift vehicle, a high performance propulsion system is required for trans-Mars injection (TMI). An expendable TMI stage, powered by three 15 thousand pounds force (klbf) NTR engines is currently under consideration by NASA for its Design Reference Mission (DRM). However, because of the miniscule burnup of enriched uranium-235 during the Earth departure phase (approximately 10 grams out of 33 kilograms in each NTR core), disposal of the TMI stage and its engines after a single use is a costly and inefficient use of this high performance stage. By reconfiguring the engines for both propulsive thrust and modest power generation (referred to as "bimodal" operation), a robust, multiple burn, "power-rich" stage with propulsive Mars capture and reuse capability is possible, A family of modular "bimodal" NTR (BNTR) vehicles are described which utilize a common "core" stage powered by three 15 klbf BNTRs that produce 50 kWe of total electrical power for crew life support, an active refrigeration / reliquification system for long term, "zero-boiloff" liquid hydrogen (LH2) storage, and high data rate communications. An innovative, spine-like "saddle truss" design connects the core stage and payload element and is open underneath to allow supplemental "in-line" propellant tanks and contingency crew consumables to be easily jettisoned to improve vehicle performance. A "modified" DRM using BNTR transfer vehicles requires fewer transportation system elements, reduces IMLEO and mission risk, and simplifies space operations. By taking the next logical step--use of the BNTR for propulsive capture of all payload elements into Mars orbit--the power available in Mars orbit grows to 150 kWe compared to 30 kWe for the DRM. Propulsive capture also eliminates the complex, higher risk aerobraking and capture maneuver which is replaced by a simpler reentry using a standardized, lower mass "aerodescent" shell. The attractiveness of the "all BNTR" option is further increased by the substitution of the lightweight, inflatable "TransHab" module in place of the heavier, hard-shell hab module. Use of TransHab introduces the potential for propulsive recovery and reuse of the BNTR/ERV. It also allows the crew to travel to and from Mar on the same BNTR transfer vehicle thereby cutting the duration of the ERV mission in half--from approximately 4.7 to 2.5 years. Finally, for difficult Mars options, such as Phobos rendezvous and sample return missions, volume (not mass) constraints limit the performance of the "all LH2" BNTR stage. The use of "LOX-augmented" NTR (LANTR) engines, operating at a modest oxygen-to-hydrogen mixutre ratio (MR) of 0.5, helps to increase "bulk" propellant density and total thrust during the TMI burn. On all subsequent burns, the bimodal LANTR engines operate on LH2 only (MR=0) to maximize vehicle performance while staying within the lift capability of two Magnum launches

Spoil of the north wind

A collection of verses to Omar Khayyam. Edition of six hundred and twenty-five copies by Blue Sky Press. Rare Books copy is no. 291. Drawing from the great number of Chicago artists and writers of the time, three ambitious young men - Fred Langworthy, Thomas Stevens, and Alden Nobel - all students at the new Armour Institute, produced almost fifty books and a monthly magazine, under the name of The Blue Sky Press between 1899 and 1907. The publications, part of the international renaissance of bookmaking led by William Morris, represent a successful press producing handmade limited editions and a significant chapter in the history of American fine press in the early twentieth century.W (NDIA The ea ta’ TTS Of this book there have been six hundred and twenty-five copies printed : twenty-five on Imperial Japan vellum; one hundred on Shandon paper for illumination ; and five hundred on Shandon paper, not illumined. This being number 2 9 J a? Copyright, 1900, by Langworthy é9 Stevens Herein is set forth certain verse inspired by the TentMaker whose tongue was of @— gold, and him who found and re-cast that forgotten ‘(ee Lees) tongue for us. The task of selection has ™) not been easy; everyone with | : a voice has sung his like or dislike of our Omar; every edition has something of the sort. I do not possess a collection of even the American editions—I gave it up long ago. Mr. Mosher of Portland is suspected of trying to keep pace with them. Tis told he wrote the Philosopher Ellis for a Rubaiyat. Mr. Ellis replied that the Philosopher Press had not printed a Rubaiyat; and as this was unique he had thoughts of advertising the fact. Mr. Mosher lists in his latest bibliography XX XV items in American reprints alone and one of these items covers twenty-six editions. So if you have written anything that might be 3 here, you may believe it is because I have not seen it. Some of you will not like the satirical verse and parodies which have been included. For your sakes they have been set by themselves, that you may avoid them. But does not the kinship of Omar to modern thought lie in that he was possessed of moods— his worship of wisdom, his pursuit of that trio of pleasures which some would name sin, his repentances —and a sense of humor. “But, through the shift of mood and mood, “Mine ancient humour saves him whole— “The cynic devil in his blood “That bids him mock his hurrying soul.”’ Did some one say he didn’t hurry ? — Did he not hurry his soul from mood to mood and laugh at his own futility the while? In this spirit, would he not enjoy a quip at himself ? “Indeed the idols I have loved so long “Fave done my credit in this World much wrong : “Have drown’d my Glory ina shallow Cup, “And sold my Reputation for a song. “Indeed, indeed, Repentance oft before “T swore — but was I sober when I swore? “And then and then came Spring, and Rose-in-hand “My thread-bare Penitence apieces tore.” Give ye thanks to all whose flowers of speech are gathered here ; thanks give I to all who aided and abetted the gathering, and es- pecially to Nathan Haskell Dole, who blazed a path. THE GRAVE OF OMAR KHAYYAM NAMED Nizam, child of Samarcand, “/ The holy place whose towers acs WY mE ; aspire to heaven, Whose domes are blue as heaven’s inverted cup, \ The consecrated shrine, the head of Islam, = Whose heart is at Meccah, the happy spot. Where bloom the gardens of the Heart’s delight; Where, in the house upon the Shepherd’s Hill, Wise men pursue the pathway of the stars — I, even Nizami, write this record down In God’s name, merciful, compassionate, A proof of his compassion. When my youth Burned in my body like a new-fed flame, When wisdom seemed an easy flower to pluck, 7 And knowledge fruit that ripens in a day— Ah me! that merry When so long ago— I was a pupil of that man of men, Omar, the Tent-Maker of Naishapur, That is Khorassan’s crown, Omar the wise, Whose wisdom read the golden laws of life, And made them ours forever in his songs, Omar the star-gazer. One day by chance, I taxing all my student’s store of wit With thought of is and is not, good and bad, And fondly dreaming that my fingers soon Would close upon the key of heaven and er earth, I met my master in a garden walk, Musing as was his wont, I knew not what, Perhaps some better mode of marshalling Those daily soldiers of the conquering years, Perchance some subtler science which the stars Ciphered in fire upon the vaulted sky For him alone, perchance on some rare rhymes on with mighty thoughts, or on some girl, Star-eyed and cypress-slender, tulip-cheeked 8 And jasmine-bosomed, for he loved such well, And deemed it wisdom. Omar saw me not, And would have passed me curtained in his thoughts ; But I, perked up with youthful consequence At mine own wisdom, plucked him by the sleeve, And with grave salutation, as befits The pupil to his master, stayed his course And craved his patience. Omar gazed at me With the grave sweetness which his servants loved, ve And gave me leave to speak, which I, on fire To tell the thing I thought, made haste to do, And poured my babble in the master's ear Of solving human doubt. When I had done, And, panting, looked into my master’s eyes To read therein approval of my plan, — He turned his head, and for a little while Waited in silence, while my petulant mind Galloped again the course of argument 9 s50W INDIA And found no flaw, all perfec. Still he stood Silent, and I, the riddle-reader, vexed At long-delayed approval, touched again His sleeve, and with impatient reverence Said, “Master, speak, that I may garner up In scented manuscript the thoughts of price That fall from Omar’s lips.” He smiled again In sweet forgiveness of my turbulent mood, And with a kindly laughter in his eyes He said, “I have been thinking, when I die, That I should like to slumber where the wind May heap my tomb with roses.” I am wiser now, and grasp no golden key. Years came and went, and Omar passed away, First from those garden walks of Samarcand Where he and I so often watched the moon Silver the bosoms of the cypresses, And so from out the circle of my life, And in due season out of life itself ; And his great name became a memory That clung about me like the scent of flowers Beloved in boyhood, and the wheeling years Ground pleasure into dust beneath my feet ; And so the world wagged till there came a day When I that had been young and was not young, I found myself at Naishapur, and there | Bethought me of my master dead and gone, So he spoke, And then with thoughtful face and quiet tread He passed and left me staring, most amazed At such a pearl from such a sea of thought, And marveling that great philosophers And Then And And When truth is thrust before them . praised ! And every wind that whispered through the Can sometimes pay so little heed to truth God be the musk-scented preface of my youth. to myself I said, “Nizam, rise seek the tomb of Omar.” So I sought, after seeking found, and, lo! it lay Beyond a garden full of roses, full As the third heaven is full of happy eyes; trees Il Scattered a heap of roses on his grave; Yea, roses leaned, and from their odorous hearts Rained petals on his marble monument, Crimson as lips of angels. Straight my mind, Sweeping the desert of departed yeers, Leaped to that garden speech in Samarcand, The cypress grove, my fretful questioning, And the mild beauty of my master’s face. Then I knelt down and glorified Allah, Who is compassionate and merciful, F LL b That of his boundless mercy he forgave That singing sinner; for I surely knew That all the leaves of every rose that dripped Its tribute on the tomb where Omar sleeps, Were tears and kisses that should smooth away His record of offence ; for Omar sinned, Since Omar was a man. He wished to sleep Beneath a veil of roses; Heaven heard, Forgave, and granted, and the perfumed pall Hides the shrine’s whiteness. Glory to Allah! Justin Huntly McCarthy (From , / 3) 1) MAES iY 4 in % a ig.) ie ™. Vv, /_—4| : ° ELL, of And all of us, sometimes, must dine ; And Omar Khayyam wrote of Roses, And all of us, no doubt, have noses ; 5 And Omar Khayyam We are but guests unto the tavern brought, Yet is our love so rich that roses white We can heap honors on his head. Many a health to thee, send roses red. And havea flower the paler for that thought ; Shall fall empurpled on thy tomb tonight. Stephen Phillips # Omar Khayyam wrote of Wine, wrote of Love, Which some of us are not above. Also he charms to this extent, We don’t know, always, what he meant. Thy more familiar comrades, who have sped OPT (1897) °° Lastly, the man’s so plainly dead Austin Dobson | OMAR’S BRIDGE FRIENDS AT BURFORD (1895) = NW, AAT . Ye “{D™ i po . . UT none can say That Lenten fare makes Lenten thought, Who reads your Golden Eastern lay, Than which I know no version done In English more divinely Tm well; A planet equal to the sun Which cast it, that large infidel Your Omar; and your Omar drew Full- handed: plaudits from our best In modern letters, and from two, Old friends outvaluing all the rest, Two voices TO OMAR KHAYYAM (Letters to Dead Authors) heard on earth Bo more. A ieee Tennyson \ eas 2 ie D i ISE Omar, do the Southern Breezes fling Above your grave,at ending of the Spring, The Snowdrift of the pet- als of the Rose, The wild white Roses you were wont to sing? Far in the South I know a Land divine, And there is many a Saint and many a Shrine, And over all the shrines the Blossom blows Of Roses that were dear to you as wine. You were a Saint of unbelieving days, Liking your life, and happy in men’s Praise; Enough for you the Shade beneath the Bough, Enough to watch the wild World go its Ways. 33 Dreadless and hopeless thou of Heaven or Hell, Careless of Words thou hadst not Skill to spell, Content to know not all thou knowest now, What’s Death? Doth any Pitcher dread the Well? The agen we, whose Maker makes them ill, Shall he torment them if they chance to spill? Nay, like the broken potsherds are we cast Forth and forgotten — and what will be will ! Te) eet cas So still were we, before the Months That rounded us and shaped us into So still we shall be, surely, at the Dreamless, untouched of Blessing or began Man. last, of Ban ! Ah, strange it seems that this thy common thought— How all things have been, aye, and shall be s nought— Was ancient Wisdom ineek: thine ancient East, In those old Days when fought, Senlac fight was 34 Which gave our England for a captive Land To pious Chiefs ofa believing Band, A gift to the Believer from the Priest, Tossed from the holy to the blood-red Hand! Yea, thou wert singing when that Arrow clave Through helm and brain of him who could not save His England, even of Harold Godwin’s son ; The high tide murmurs by the Hero’s grave ! And thou wert wreathing Roses—who can tel] r— Or chanting for some girl that pleased thee well, Or satst at wine in Naishapur, when The twilight veiled the field where fell ! dun Harold The salt Sea-waves above him rage and roam ! Along the white Walls of his guarded Home No Zephyr stirs the Rose, but o’er the wave The wild Wind beats the Breakers into Foam! a5 And dear to him, as Roses were to thee, Rings long the Roar of Onset of the Sea! The Swan’s Path of his Fathers ; in his Nay, we can never be as wise as thou, O idle singer ’neath the blossomed bough ! grave , His sleep, methinks, is sound as thine can be. We cannot shirk the questions “Where ?” and “How?” Fis was the Age of Faith, when all the West Looked to the Priest for torment or for rest ; And thou wert living then, and didst not heed Ah, not from learned Peace and gay Content The Saint who blessed ! banned thee or the Saint who Ages of Progress! years These eight hundred Hath Europe shuddered with her hopes or fears, ma And now !—She listens in the wilderness l'o thee, and half believeth what she hears ! Hadst thou THE sEcRET? tell ? Ah, and who may “An hour we have,” thou saidst : waste it well!” Ay. An hour we have and yet Eternity Looms o’er us, and the thought of Heav en or Hell! 36 Nay, and we cannot be content to die; Shall we of England go the way he went— The Singer of the Red Wine and the Rose— Nay, otherwise than Ais our Day is spent! Serene he dwelt in fragrant Naishapur, But we must wander while the Stars No He knew THE SECRET: that knows, Man so sure as Omar endure, we have none once was sure ! Andrew Lang A GLOSE UPON THE TWELFTH RUBAIYAT OF OMAR KHAYYAM Dedicated to Y. N. by P. G. the sixteenth night of ‘fune. “A book of verses underneath the bough, “A jug of wine, a loaf of bread —and thou “Beside me singing in the wilderness— “Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow !” F'T have the footsteps of my iT meetune 9M %% i soul been led By thee, sweet OMAR, far from hum of Toil Towhere the Chenar trees their plumage spread And tangly wild grapevines the thickest coil; Where distant fields, scarce glimpsed in Noon content Are lush with verdure quick upon the plough, Where trills the Nightingale beneath the Tent Of Heaven, uttering her soft lament; There have I sat with Thee and conned ere now A book of Verses underneath the bough. 62 When from the City’s raucous din new-freed, I quaff thy Wisdom from the clearing Cup Of Rubaiyat, then, even as I read, I seem with Thee in Persian groves to sup On Bread of YEZDAKHAST SHIRAZ and wine That lifts the Net of Care from off the Brow. These Words, that tongue the Spirit of the Vine, key Speak from the Veil, and lo! the voice 1s ; Thine : Then is my Wish— would Fate that Wish allow — A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread — and Thou. Although I tread the Wilderness of Life, ss Clime, Thy song can waft me to that carele , Strife of ies Memor nor in enter Where Gulf of Nor Ghosts of Woe from out the 7 Time. would I There, by thy side, great OMAR, stray, the Press. And drink the juice that has forgot ,— (A Pot, the Potter shaped but yesterday Tomorrow will it be but broken clay to?) bless, With only Thee, the toilsome Road ! Beside me singing in the wilderness 63 When thou dost scorn the Waste and mourn the Rose, That dies upon the World’s too sinful Breast, In thy Disdain a wondrous beauty glows, Unfolding Visions ofa Life more blessed. Then from thy NAISHAPUR in KHORASSAN, I seem to wander, though I know not how, Within the glittering Gates of JENISTAN, Supreme SHADUKIAM I wondering scan : Though still I walk the Wilderness, I vow — Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow ! Porter THE LOVE OF A SUMMER DAY (The Chap-Book) “A book of verses underneath the bough, “A jug of wine, a loaf of bread, and thou “Beside me singing in the wilderness : “Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!”’ would rather be loved by you, sweet, {> vis Garnett Than all of the world beside, I would rather one day with you, sweet, On the brink of a summer tide, With a song we could sing to- gether,

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