Across
- 4. I orbit Earth without a sound, transmitting signals round and round. GPS and weather maps are mine — I keep your phone and TV fine. What am I?
- 7. I keep a spacecraft pointing right, maintaining orientation in flight. Spinning fast inside your craft — without me, missions drift fore and aft. What am I?
- 8. I hold the rocket before it flies, a concrete throne beneath the skies. Fueled and bolted, armed and ready — I keep ten million kilos steady. What am I?
- 10. I'm the stream of data sent from space, reporting speed and health and place. Engineers watch me on their screens — I tell the story behind the scenes. What am I?
Down
- 1. Two spacecraft meet and clasp in space, a careful, choreographed embrace. The ISS knows me very well — a perfect link no gravity to tell. What am I?
- 2. I protect against the blazing burn, as spacecraft home begins to turn. Ablative layers take the heat — without me, reentry ends in defeat. What am I?
- 3. I'm the nose cone shielding the prize, protecting the payload as it climbs the skies. Once in space, I split in two — my job is done, the payload breaks through. What am I?
- 5. I give the rocket its first mighty shove, strapped to the side and pushing from above. Once fuel runs dry, I fall away — SpaceX taught me to land and stay. What am I?
- 6. I'm the fiery plunge back home, through atmosphere, no more to roam. Shields must hold or all is lost — this dramatic phase comes at great cost. What am I?
- 9. I reach across the void of space, sending signals from place to place. Dish-shaped often, tall and wide — ground control speaks through my side. What am I?