When Donald Trump retook the oath of office on January 20, 2025, returning to the presidency after a turbulent four years out of power, the national mood was sharply divided. Supporters celebrated a combative return to what they viewed as unapologetic American strength. Critics braced for another term marked by institutional strain, hardline nationalism, and a political style that frequently blurred policy ambition with personal branding. But amid the domestic clashes and courtroom dramas that defined the opening weeks of his second term, a quieter yet consequential development emerged from the executive branch: a new directive aimed at reviving the U.S. presence on the Moon, centered not on exploration alone, but on nuclear power.
One of the administration’s first space-related acts was to revive and expand Space Policy Directive 6, a 2020-era policy that had tasked NASA and the Department of Energy with developing a fission surface power system for future lunar missions. The original directive, issued late in Trump’s first term, had stalled mainly during the Biden administration, which prioritized Earth science and climate observation. Trump’s second-term version stripped away those priorities, focusing instead on a much more aggressive goal: building and deploying a full-scale nuclear power plant on the Moon capable of delivering over 100 kilowatts of continuous energy. This was not merely a demonstration project. The White House now envisioned a reactor that could support a permanent crewed base, power resource extraction and processing, and serve as a geopolitical marker of U.S. dominance in cislunar space.
This initiative, while technically rooted in long-standing NASA and DOE projects, was politically framed as a race against foreign adversaries. In particular, China’s growing capabilities in lunar exploration were repeatedly invoked in public remarks by administration officials. The policy's most controversial feature was the appointment of Secretary of Transportation Sean Duffy, who had no background in aerospace engineering or nuclear physics, as Acting Administrator of NASA. A former congressman and conservative media figure, Duffy was now positioned to steer both the Federal Aviation Administration’s commercial space oversight and NASA’s scientific and exploratory missions. The dual appointment drew immediate scrutiny from experts who warned of blurred responsibilities and potential politicization of a historically nonpartisan agency.
Nonetheless, the administration pressed forward. Inside NASA’s headquarters, the message was clear: timelines would shrink, priorities would shift, and lunar nuclear power would become the agency’s central project. The Kilopower program, originally developed during the Obama and Trump administrations in cooperation with the Department of Energy, became the technological backbone. The earlier KRUSTY (Kilopower Reactor Using Stirling Technology) experiment had proven that a small fission reactor could operate in a simulated space environment, producing around 10 kilowatts. But increasing that tenfold meant solving a host of new engineering problems, particularly around fuel enrichment, heat dissipation, and structural integrity under lunar thermal cycles.
At the DOE’s national labs in Idaho and Tennessee, engineers and nuclear physicists were ordered to accelerate their work. Materials testing and fuel production ramped up at a pace that some insiders described as “uneasy.” Safety reviews were still required, but deadlines were fixed and politically charged. According to internal documents leaked to the press, Duffy had demanded preliminary design proposals for a 100-kilowatt reactor within 60 days, a timeline some engineers privately said was unrealistic without cutting corners.
Meanwhile, contractors were encouraged to form new consortia, merging traditional aerospace firms with startups focused on rapid prototyping, AI-aided design, or advanced manufacturing. Proposals poured in, some ambitious and innovative, others speculative and reliant on unproven concepts. The White House encouraged public enthusiasm by emphasizing the strategic stakes: any delay, officials warned, would allow China or Russia to establish “zones of influence” on the Moon. It was a Cold War-era framing applied to an entirely new context.
Congressional negotiations reflected this shift in priorities. NASA’s Earth science budget, already politically vulnerable, saw reallocation toward lunar infrastructure and reactor development. Climate scientists warned of long-term damage to research programs tracking atmospheric change, ocean currents, and Arctic ice loss. One NOAA official, speaking anonymously, noted that a central satellite mission had been postponed to free up funds. The administration dismissed such concerns as short-term sacrifices for long-term leadership.
By late summer, two designs emerged as front-runners. The first featured a compact reactor integrated into a single lunar lander module, capable of autonomous deployment. The second proposed method is to bury reactor components under lunar regolith for shielding, with advanced Stirling engines converting heat to electricity. Both designs aimed for ten years of uninterrupted operation. Their purpose was not just scientific. White House talking points increasingly linked the reactor to potential industrial activity: oxygen extraction from lunar ice, production of rocket propellant, even long-term support for a Mars mission. Critics questioned the timeline, the cost, and the wisdom of prioritizing nuclear systems in an environment where failure could be politically disastrous.
Sean Duffy, for his part, became the face of the program. He toured DOE test facilities and gave regular media briefings, casting the lunar nuclear project as proof of America’s unmatched ambition. His rhetoric was often bellicose, framing the Moon not as a site of peaceful exploration but as the next strategic frontier. Behind the scenes, career staff at NASA and the Department of Energy worked under mounting pressure, aware that technical rigor was colliding with political urgency. Some of them had lived through the Challenger and Columbia disasters, and worried aloud about what could go wrong when political timelines overtook engineering discipline.
In early 2029, after years of rushed development and high-stakes funding battles, the first launch took place. A pair of rockets departed from Cape Canaveral, carrying the core reactor and support systems in separate payloads. The launch was successful, and the payloads reached lunar orbit without incident. As the landers touched down and automated systems activated, engineers back on Earth initiated the reactor startup sequence. With careful timing, the control rods were withdrawn, and the reactor achieved criticality. For the first time in history, a nuclear reactor began generating power on the Moon.
The White House quickly seized the moment. Trump, addressing the nation from a campaign-style rally in Texas, declared it a “new American century in space,” crediting his administration with what he called “the biggest scientific breakthrough since the Moon landing.” But not everyone was convinced. Scientists noted that the core technology had been in development for nearly two decades. Environmental advocates questioned the redirection of funds away from Earth science. And national security analysts warned that the overtly militarized framing of the reactor’s deployment could trigger a reactive posture from other spacefaring nations.
Yet the power was absolute. On the dusty surface of the Moon, far from the spin of Washington, a small, shielded fission reactor hummed steadily, pouring kilowatts into a modular grid. For engineers and technicians who had worked quietly for years under immense pressure, the achievement was undeniable. But for the rest of the country, the meaning of that glowing reactor remained contested, an emblem of ambition, yes, but also of the political calculus that brought it into being. The atom had arrived on the Moon not in an era of optimism, but in one of division. Whether it would illuminate a shared future or cast longer shadows remained, as ever, an open question.
- Congressional Research Service, Eva Lipiec. “National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) FY2026 Budget Request and Appropriations,” CRS In Focus IF13024, June 10, 2025. (Congress.gov)
- Kilopower Reactor Using Stirling Technology (KRUSTY) Nuclear Ground Test Results and Lessons Learned. NASA and U.S. Department of Energy, NTRS Document 20180007389, March 21, 2018. (NASA Technical Reports Server)
- NASA. “NASA Supports America’s National Strategy for Space Nuclear Power and Propulsion,” NASA.gov, December 16, 2020. (NASA)
- National Nuclear Security Administration. “NASA, NNSS, Partners Complete Kilopower Experiment at NNSS,” NNSS.gov, March 21, 2018. (Nevada National Security Site)
- Politico. “Duffy to Announce Nuclear Reactor on the Moon,” Politico, August 4, 2025. (Politico)
- Politico. “White House Outlines Plan to Gut NOAA, Smother Climate Research,” Politico, April 11, 2025. (Politico)
- Trump, Donald J. Memorandum on the National Strategy for Space Nuclear Power and Propulsion (Space Policy Directive-6), The White House, December 16, 2020. (trumpwhitehouse.archives.gov)
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