Just like any expectant parent, I had a bag packed and was waiting by the front door. In these situations you never know when things will kick off, so it’s best to be prepared. The birth that I was waiting for was not a child, but the UK’s new launch capability to get baby satellites (known as microsatellites) into space from right here in Britain. As a space scientist, and builder of satellites myself, I know of the frustration of a launch. Here in the UK we have developed an industry in small dynamic satellites. Microsatellites, unlike their larger brethren, can be turned around quickly. I spent part of my career working on the James Webb space telescope, a wonderful piece of hi-tech engineering designed to give us amazing new insight into the early universe and how it evolved. But it took about 40 years to develop, from concept to launch. With microsatellites, you can refine an idea and come up with a concept in a short time. A design comes together via several iterations. After some modelling and ironing out of kinks, we start to build the thing. And this can be done in a small lab or even a workshop. After rigorous testing, it can be ready to launch just months from the initial idea. But that’s when the real issues start. In the past, launching generally meant shipping our small satellite to a large facility overseas and hitching a ride on a rocket that’s carrying a much bigger cargo, filling the gaps not used by the main passenger. But the large cargo is what decides when the rocket will launch. So after all that work of generating the microsatellite, it could be grounded for months or even years before getting into space. Enter the game-changing LauncherOne, the vehicle developed and flown by Virgin Orbit. This system was designed for launching microsatellites. A rocket slung on the underside of a jumbo jet, taken high into the atmosphere, is then released to power its way into orbit. Instead of travelling halfway around the world, the launcher could take off from somewhere such as Cornwall. On the night of its launch, when the first UK satellites were to be launched from right here in Britain, I wanted to be there. When the call came to confirm that an attempt was imminent, I was ready; I grabbed my bag and set off. I arrived at Newquay airport early and headed towards Spaceport Cornwall where the jumbo jet, named Cosmic Girl, would take off, carrying the LauncherOne rocket on its underside. The rocket was to be released over cleared waters between Ireland and Spain, where it could safely ignite. The weather was predictably ferocious for Cornwall in January; bitterly cold, with high winds and heavy downpours of rain. It felt as if the launch would be cancelled before it even got off the ground. And even though I would not see the rocket ignite and journey into space from my vantage point at Newquay airport, to be part of the crowd watching British space history being made was important to me. As the night went on, the wind died and the rain showers stopped. I could see a few planets and stars in the clearing sky. Maybe the launch would go ahead. We soon heard that LauncherOne was being fuelled on the runway. The launch was going ahead. Cosmic Girl took to the sky, and together with thousands of other people I gathered around the big outdoor screen to watch the progress of what we could no longer see directly in front of us. Everything went smoothly, from takeoff to release to ignition. But then, with hardly a change of tone, we started to hear the word “anomaly”. The rocket had experienced some difficulties and was unable to make it into orbit. The mood in the crowd shifted from elation to disappointment. Despite this setback, I am still proud of all that was achieved. Getting things into space is a fraught experience. The learning curve for any new technology is steep. Similar challenges were experienced with aircraft back in the day, but persistence enabled us to surmount these hurdles. All too often we focus on the win, rather than the process that got us there. As an experimental scientist I know that most of the work I do is not successful. Following a process can lead to a dead end. Very few successes just happen; usually it’s only through failures that we succeed, learning lessons as we go. It may be some time before we know what went wrong on Monday night, but we are safe in the knowledge that most things went right. This means next time, we’ll get closer to our goal. As I left my apartment in Newquay the following morning, tired and slightly dejected, and carrying some recycling on my way to the bins, I met one of the residents of the apartment block. We got talking and she asked me why I was in Cornwall. I explained that I was there for the rocket launch. Her face fell and she said: “What a waste of money” Tired though I was, I had to do it. I made a 30-second elevator pitch explaining that the launch was taking technology into space that could help all of us, from small observation satellites that help us understand climate change, to developing new manufacturing techniques in space that help here on Earth. She looked at me for a moment and said: “Do you know, you have changed my mind on this.” Her response may have been a quick attempt to get rid of the weirdly intense woman standing in front of her, but deep inside I hope she really did see the benefits this will have for everyone. And by talking about the benefits out loud, I felt better too, knowing that we will get there, and it will be worth it in the end. Dr Maggie Aderin-Pocock is a space scientist and presenter of the BBC’s The Sky at Night