Inclination — where it appears
Named by 29 essays across 8 fields — each of them below, with the objects they name alongside it.
The third law is wrong by the mass of the planet
Kepler's harmonic law says the square of the period goes as the cube of the size. Newton's version has one more term in it, and the term is the orbiting body's own mass — negligible for a planet, decisive for a binary star, and the reason a period can be converted into a mass at all.
The only stars whose masses are known
A star's mass cannot be measured by looking at it. It can be measured by watching two stars pull on each other, and if the pair also eclipses, the same observations give both radii as well — with no stellar model anywhere in the chain. A few hundred such systems calibrate everything else.
Two radii, from a light curve alone
The radius of a star is not measured. It is inferred, from a temperature and a luminosity, through a model. There is one exception — a pair of stars that eclipse each other, whose light curve and velocity curves between them give both radii, both masses and the ratio of temperatures with no model of a stellar interior anywhere in the chain.
The line under a satellite
A ground track is an orbit seen from a frame that is turning, so every pass lands west of the last one. The track closes only when two periods are commensurable — which turns "look at the same place every day" into a condition on the altitude.
The star moves, and the mass is a lower bound
A planet is found by watching its star fall towards it. The wobble gives a mass multiplied by the sine of an angle nobody has measured — and the shortfall is not a rounding error.
The precession that switches the cycle off
A distant companion can trade an orbit's inclination for its eccentricity, over and over, and drive a pericentre almost onto the central body. General relativity's own precession competes with the mechanism for the same pericentre, and when it wins the cycle stops — sharply, at a ratio of one, which puts a floor on how close anything can be delivered.
A temperature that depends on where the observer stands
A star turning near its break-up rate is half again as wide as it is tall, and its equator is thousands of degrees cooler than its poles. Neither of those is a small correction to a spectrum — the effective temperature and the luminosity such a star appears to have are partly statements about which way its axis happens to point.
A distance tangled with an angle
A gravitational wave carries its own distance, with no ladder underneath it and nothing to calibrate. What it also carries, inseparably, is the orientation of the orbit that made it — and one detector cannot tell a nearby binary seen edge-on from one twice as far away seen face-on.
A swath is sized at the equator
An imaging satellite's tracks crowd together towards the poles and spread apart towards the equator, so whether a swath leaves gaps is settled at the equator and nowhere else. The order in which a repeat cycle then closes those gaps is not orbital mechanics at all. It is a theorem about points on a circle.
The circle a station can see
A ground station can talk to a satellite only while the satellite is above its horizon, and the region it can do that from is a circle drawn round the point beneath the spacecraft. The circle grows as the square root of the altitude and then stops growing, the time spent inside it diverges at one altitude, and the stations that get the most contact are not where anyone would first put them.
A stationary satellite that draws a figure of eight
A satellite with a period of exactly one sidereal day returns over the same ground every day, but only an orbit in the equator with no eccentricity returns over a single point. A few degrees of tilt draw a figure of eight, a little eccentricity a swing in longitude, and the two together draw the figure the Sun draws in the sky over a year.
Five satellites and not four
No single orbit keeps a satellite above every point on the Earth. How many are needed is a question about the largest empty circle among their directions at the worst instant, and it has sharp answers. Four can never do it, five can from 11,605 kilometres up, and past that the arrangement of the orbits matters as much as their number.
A tumble stopped by the field it tumbles through
A small satellite leaves its deployer tumbling, and the first thing most of them do is stop, using nothing but a magnetometer and three coils. The law they run needs no idea where the satellite is pointing. What it cannot do, at any instant, is touch the spin about the local field line — so how much tumble survives is decided by how much the field's direction changes along the orbit, and the stillness it reaches is defined by the field rather than by the stars.
The pole-on stars a brightness limit prefers
A rapidly rotating star looks brighter and hotter from its pole than from its equator, so a survey that picks stars by how bright they look should pick more of them pole-on. It does — and the surprise is how little. Averaged over random orientations, a gravity-darkened star's apparent luminosity is exactly its true one, because every photon goes somewhere; a brightness limit restores only a fraction of a per cent of bias, while the error in any single star is ten times larger and of either sign.
One square root that raises the orbit and turns it
Edelbaum put the plane change inside the same radical as the raise, and the half-pi in its cosine is the whole result — a continuous turn costs π/2 times an impulsive one below 140° and less above it.
The wall sells inclination at the dearest price
Transfers to Mars that go almost exactly half-way round the Sun are forced into planes tilted steeply out of the ecliptic, which is why they form a wall of expensive dates across every launch chart. A mission that wanted to leave the ecliptic could use the wall on purpose. It would be buying inclination at the Earth's orbital speed — the dearest place to buy it — and the routes that reach the Sun's poles have always gone somewhere slower to make the turn.
A plane change borrowed from the Moon
Turning an orbit's plane by the engine costs a fixed fraction of the spacecraft's speed, which is why it is done as far from the Earth as possible. Farther still, at the Moon's distance, a spacecraft is moving so slowly that the Moon can turn its velocity through tens of degrees for nothing — but a flyby close enough to turn it hard also flings it outward, and the useful flyby is a gentle one, in a window of heights the arithmetic picks out.
A tilt the Moon should not have
A moon's orbit precesses about a plane that sits on its planet's equator close in and on the planet's own orbit far out. A Moon born in the Earth's equator and carried outward by the tides should have followed that plane all the way to the ecliptic, because the angle it keeps to it is an adiabatic invariant. It is inclined by five degrees instead, and slow recession cannot have put them there.
An alignment a disc shows only when it is tipped
A disc galaxy's outline on the sky is its spin seen in projection, so the torque alignment of spins has to appear in shapes too. It does, multiplied by a factor near a sixth and carried almost entirely by the discs seen close to edge-on — which is how a lensing survey can fit the term and find nothing while a survey of spins finds it.
A kick speed read off the slope of a histogram
Throw fragments at one speed in random directions and the component of each kick along the orbit is spread evenly between plus and minus that speed — Archimedes' theorem about the area of a sphere, applied to debris. Each fragment's period records that component, so the histogram of periods is a stack of flat bands, one per speed, and its slope gives the speeds back: a break-up weighed by its own violence from a catalogue of orbits, if the event was isotropic, and fragment by fragment if it was not.
A climb out of the ecliptic paid for in orbits
A solar sail can tilt its orbit without propellant by leaning against sunlight and changing which way it leans twice an orbit. Each orbit then adds the same few degrees whatever its size, so the climb runs faster the closer to the Sun the sail goes. Nothing in the orbit fixes how close that can be. The sail film's temperature does.
The one axis the field will not take
A satellite that keeps one face towards the Earth can empty its reaction wheels into the Earth's magnetic field with coils, using no propellant. Its own rotation, once an orbit, cancels every steady torque except those about one axis, the pitch axis normal to the orbit. In an orbit near the equator the field lies along that same axis, and a coil cannot push about the direction of the field.
A shared axis hides at the angle where it does no harm
If the stars of a cluster were born spinning about a common axis, their inclinations would show it. A tight alignment shows in a handful of stars at any orientation. A loose one about an axis tilted 54.7° from the line of sight has the same average inclination as random axes and takes a thousand stars to find. At that same angle, a shared axis also stops biasing the cluster's brightnesses.
A plane turned only where turning is cheap
A low-thrust engine that turns an orbit's plane continuously pays π/2 times what an impulse at the node would cost, because for half of every revolution it is pushing where a push mostly swings the node instead of tilting the plane. Thrusting only in arcs about the nodes recovers almost all of that: arcs of ±30 degrees cost five per cent more than an impulse, at the price of taking twice as long. It is how geostationary satellites hold their planes, and it stops working for large turns, where a chord is shorter than any arc.
A conversion measured without an alignment
The factor that turns a disc galaxy's spin alignment into the shape alignment a lensing survey fits looked like something only a sample with a detected alignment could test. It is not. It is a relation each galaxy obeys on its own, so it can be read off a few hundred discs with velocity maps whether or not their spins point anywhere in particular — and what is left for the hard measurement to test is only whether a disc's shape is anything more than its projected spin.
A galaxy born without a halo
When two galaxies collide, some of the gas flung out along their tidal tails condenses into new dwarf galaxies. Debris launched from a disc cannot take the dark halo with it, so these dwarfs should rotate at the speed their own gas and stars allow and no faster. The relation that predicts every ordinary galaxy's rotation from its baryons says they should rotate twice as fast. One rotation curve decides between a halo and a law — except that the inclination of a lumpy young disc can move the answer by more than the difference.
A turn spread where the climb leaves room
An electric spacecraft spiralling from low orbit to geostationary has to remove its launch inclination on the way, and the classic steering law tilts its thrust out of the plane by the same angle all the way round each orbit. But out-of-plane thrust turns the plane only near the nodes, while in-plane thrust raises the orbit equally well everywhere. Letting the tilt follow the nodes — leaning hard where turning works and lying flat where it does not — saves 150 metres a second on a transfer from Cape Canaveral, with no coasting, because the climb fills exactly the parts of each orbit where the turn would be wasted.
A tilt built from a thousand near misses
The Moon's orbit is tilted five degrees to the ecliptic, and slow tidal recession cannot have done it. One candidate is the leftover debris of planet formation: bodies the size of the Moon, passing the young Earth–Moon pair, each giving its orbit a kick of a fifth of a degree in a random direction. A random walk of a few thousand such kicks reaches five degrees — and the bodies that would supply them are the same population whose impacts left the Earth's mantle its gold.
A turn that costs more when the shadow sits on the node
An electric spacecraft turning its orbit's plane does most of the turning near the two nodes, where a push out of the plane tilts it most. Its engine runs on sunlight and stops in the Earth's shadow, and the shadow covers a sixth of the orbit wherever it happens to fall. When it falls on a node it removes a quarter of each orbit's turning, and a law that concentrates its thrust at the nodes loses half. The node drifts one way and the Sun the other, so the shadow slides across the nodes over weeks — and a transfer's length depends on the day it starts.
Named alongside it
The objects these essays reach for when they reach for this one.
Plane changeGround trackAngular momentumElectric propulsionGeostationary orbitLow-thrust transferSun-synchronous orbitArgument of latitudeCritical rotationΔvEccentricityGravity assist