Above the familiar sky, a quiet crisis has been building for decades — tens of thousands of human-made objects now share the same orbital commons, each one a potential collision waiting to happen. At Sandia National Laboratories in New Mexico, a computer scientist named Allen Schnibben has responded to this crowding not with alarm but with ingenuity, assembling an automated observatory from ordinary commercial parts to watch the night sky on humanity's behalf. His system, SOHBRIT, runs unsupervised through the dark hours, cataloguing the satellites that have become as essential to modern life
Sandia scientist builds automated satellite tracker from commercial tech
Space is becoming more readily accessible for different groups
So Schnibben built this thing from commercial parts. Why does that matter? Why not just use military-grade equipment?
Cost, mainly. Military systems are expensive and take years to develop. Schnibben wanted something that could be deployed quickly and maintained without a huge budget. Commercial components let him do that.
But does commercial equipment actually work for this? What's the accuracy? The source doesn't say.
Fair point. We know it captures about 80 satellites on a clear night, but we don't know how precise those measurements are or how they compare to other tracking systems.
And the automation piece—he can just set it and forget it?
Essentially, yes. He schedules the observations, the system runs overnight, and he collects the data the next morning. No one has to be there watching.
That's convenient, but what happens when it fails? When clouds roll in, or equipment breaks? The source doesn't address failure modes.
True. We only hear about clear nights. Real-world reliability is a separate question.
What's the actual impact? Is this preventing collisions, or is it just collecting data that other people use?
It's the latter. SOHBRIT feeds imagery to Sandia researchers who develop algorithms and machine learning models. The prevention work happens downstream.
So it's a research tool, not an operational collision-avoidance system. That's an important distinction the narrative should make clearer.
And the bigger picture—is 45,000 objects in orbit actually a crisis, or is Schnibben solving a problem that's being overstated?
The debris risk is real. A collision creates more debris, which creates more collision risk. But whether SOHBRIT specifically moves the needle on that—we don't know from this reporting.
O Pulso
- With over 45,000 human-made objects now circling Earth, the risk of a single collision triggering a cascading debris field threatens to render entire orbital zones unusable.
- Satellite constellations launched by corporations, governments, and even university students have transformed low Earth orbit from a sparse frontier into something closer to a crowded shipping lane.
- Schnibben built SOHBRIT from affordable, off-the-shelf components and wrote his own automation software — turning what might have required a large team into a system one person can schedule from a desk and leave to run through the night.
- On a clear night, the observatory photographs roughly 80 satellites, generating fresh data each morning without requiring a single human to stand watch.
- That data is already being used to train machine learning models and sharpen detection algorithms, pushing optical tracking toward a future where fainter, faster-moving objects can be identified with greater confidence.
- What began as a practical engineering solution is quietly becoming infrastructure for both military awareness and broader space safety — a small dome in New Mexico holding a piece of the answer to one of the defining logistical challenges of the coming century.
Above the familiar sky, a quiet crisis has been building for decades — tens of thousands of human-made objects now share the same orbital commons, each one a potential collision waiting to happen. At Sandia National Laboratories in New Mexico, a computer scientist named Allen Schnibben has responded to this crowding not with alarm but with ingenuity, assembling an automated observatory from ordinary commercial parts to watch the night sky on humanity's behalf. His system, SOHBRIT, runs unsupervised through the dark hours, cataloguing the satellites that have become as essential to modern life as they are invisible to most of us — a quiet sentinel for an increasingly contested frontier.
Allen Schnibben grew up reading about the solar system and pointing telescopes at the night sky. That childhood habit eventually became a career, and today, as a computer scientist at Sandia National Laboratories, he applies that same curiosity to one of the most pressing problems in modern space operations: knowing where everything in orbit actually is.
The observatory he operates, called SOHBRIT, sits inside a 12-foot dome at Sandia's New Mexico facility. Its purpose is straightforward but urgent — tracking satellites to prevent collisions. At orbital velocities, even a small impact is catastrophic, and the wreckage it generates becomes debris that threatens everything else nearby. The problem compounds itself. And it begins, fundamentally, with not knowing where things are.
The scale of the challenge has grown dramatically. NASA counted more than 45,000 human-made objects in orbit as of 2024, a number driven upward by the rise of satellite constellations and the democratization of space access. Universities, startups, and communication companies all launch payloads now. The sky is more useful than ever — and more crowded.
What distinguishes SOHBRIT is less the telescope than the system Schnibben built around it. He sourced commercial off-the-shelf components and wrote automation software that lets the observatory run through the night without supervision. He sets a schedule in the evening; by morning, he has data on roughly 80 satellites captured during the hours he slept. That imagery then feeds into algorithm development and machine learning research aimed at detecting fainter objects faster and with greater precision.
Schnibben didn't know Sandia did space work when he first arrived in Albuquerque. He discovered it while looking for new opportunities on Kirtland Air Force Base, and what he found was a team with deep expertise in satellite systems. SOHBRIT is what that expertise looks like applied to a practical, immediate problem — something affordable, automated, and capable enough to help manage the increasingly complex traffic above our heads.
Allen Schnibben was the kind of kid who read books about the solar system and then actually did something about it. By middle school, he had a telescope pointed at the night sky. That childhood curiosity never left him. Today, as a computer scientist at Sandia National Laboratories, he channels it into work that matters in ways his younger self probably didn't imagine: keeping track of the thousands of satellites now crowding Earth's orbit.
Schnibben operates SOHBRIT, a 12-foot-wide observatory at Sandia's New Mexico facility. The name reflects its purpose—collecting data on satellites to prevent the kind of disaster that haunts space planners: two objects traveling at orbital velocity colliding with each other. The speeds involved make such a collision catastrophic. The wreckage that results becomes debris, which then threatens every other satellite in that orbital region. It's a cascading problem, and it starts with not knowing where things are.
The numbers explain the urgency. As of 2024, NASA counted more than 45,000 human-made objects in orbit around Earth. That figure has grown sharply because satellite constellations—networks of thousands of satellites rather than a handful—have become the norm. Communication companies, imaging services, and university research programs all launch payloads now. Space, Schnibben notes, has become more accessible. A group of students can build a small satellite and get it into orbit. That's democratization, but it also means the traffic problem gets worse.
What makes SOHBRIT unusual is not the telescope itself but what Schnibben built around it. He assembled the observatory from commercial off-the-shelf components—the kind of equipment you can buy without special clearance or custom engineering. Then he wrote automation software that lets him operate it remotely from his desk. He sets a schedule in the evening, and the system runs through the night without human supervision. By morning, he has fresh data. On a clear night, SOHBRIT captures images of roughly 80 satellites.
That imagery feeds into work that extends beyond simple tracking. Sandia employees use the collected data to test detection algorithms and machine learning models. The goal is to push optical systems further—to see fainter objects, to identify them faster, to automate the process of knowing what's up there. Schnibben sees this as part of a larger mission. The military needs to know satellite positions. Sandia needs to know them. And as the orbital environment gets more crowded, everyone needs better tools to manage it.
When Schnibben first moved to Albuquerque, he didn't realize Sandia did space work at all. He was working for another contractor on Kirtland Air Force Base and only discovered Sandia's role when he started looking for other jobs in the area. What he found was a team of engineers with deep expertise in space systems—people who understand how satellites work and how to push the boundaries of what's possible with them. SOHBRIT is one result of that expertise applied to a practical problem: building something affordable, automated, and effective enough to help manage the increasingly complex dance happening above our heads.
Citações Notáveis
If we don't keep track of them, then satellites could inadvertently come close to each other and potentially run into each other. Satellites travel very fast. So, a collision at the speeds you expect satellites to be at could be a very catastrophic collision.— Allen Schnibben, computer scientist at Sandia National Laboratories
At Sandia, there's a ton of people who have a very detailed engineering knowledge of space systems and how they work, and they use that engineering expertise to push the boundaries of what's possible.— Allen Schnibben