Field

Orbits

Kepler's three laws, and the family of curves a single force allows.

An orbit at eccentricity 0.6. An orbit of eccentricity 0.6. The primary sits at a focus, offset from the centre by 0.6 of the semi-major axis, and the closest and furthest points differ by a factor of 4.00.

The orbit is an ellipse, and the Sun is not in the middle of it

Kepler's first law is usually drawn wrong. The interesting content is not the ellipse — it is the focus, and the fact that one of the two is empty.

Equal areas in equal times, which is angular momentum in disguise

Kepler's second law is a statement about the area a radius line sweeps. It looks like an odd thing to have noticed, and it turns out to be a conservation law arriving eighty years early.

$What an eccentricity does to the shape, and what it does to the offset. The fractional flattening 1 − b/a and the fractional focal offset c/a, against eccentricity. The offset is first order in e and the flattening is second, so at Earth's e = 0.0167 the outline is 0.014% from a circle while the Sun sits 1.67% of the semi-major axis off the centre — a factor of 120.$

An orbit can look exactly like a circle and still not be one

Earth's orbit departs from a circle by fourteen parts in a hundred thousand. The Sun's offset from its centre is a hundred and twenty times larger, and everything interesting is in the offset.

A vector that does not change, drawn five times. The Laplace–Runge–Lenz vector A = v × L − GM r̂, constructed at five points of one orbit at e = 0.45 under a force ∝ r^−2, each drawn from the body rather than from the focus so that its length and direction can be compared point by point. Under the inverse square every one of them is the same vector: identical to machine precision in length and in direction. Its length is 0.4500, which is the eccentricity, and it points at pericentre — so the orbit's orientation is a conserved quantity and not a constant of integration, which is why the ellipse does not turn.

The third thing that is conserved

Energy fixes an orbit's size and angular momentum fixes its shape. Neither fixes which way it points — so a curve that closes needs a third conserved quantity, and only two force laws in the universe supply one.

The three anomalies at E = 1.15 rad. The auxiliary circle construction. The eccentric anomaly E is measured at the centre, the true anomaly ν at the focus, and the mean anomaly M is time expressed as an angle. Here E = 1.150, ν = 1.827 and M = 0.602 radians, related by M = E − e sin E.

The position that has no formula, and is computed anyway

Kepler's equation relates where a body is to when it is there. It cannot be solved in elementary functions, Kepler said so, and nobody has managed it since — which has stopped nothing.

Period against size for the planets, around the Sun. Orbital period against semi-major axis on logarithmic axes. The line has slope exactly three-halves — the harmonic law — and the measured bodies sit on it.

The law that links period to size, and weighs everything

Kepler found that the square of the period goes as the cube of the orbit. Newton found the constant of proportionality, and that constant is a mass — which is how every mass in astronomy has been obtained since.

Every orbit one force allows. Circle, ellipse, parabola and hyperbola, all sharing a focus and a closest approach. The eccentricity alone decides which one a body is on, and whether it returns.

Every orbit one force allows, and the number that picks between them

Circle, ellipse, parabola, hyperbola. A single inverse-square force permits exactly these four, and one number decides which — including whether the body ever comes back.

An orbit at i = 42°, Ω = 35°, ω = 55°. The three orientation elements. The orbit is generated in its own plane and rotated by the standard sequence, so the inclination, the node line and the argument of periapsis are the angles that produced the drawn curve rather than labels applied to it.

Six numbers that fix an orbit for all time, and the sixth is the awkward one

Five of the orbital elements describe a curve that never changes. The sixth says where on it the body is, and it is the only one that has to keep being measured.

The energy budget of an orbit at e = 0.7. Kinetic, potential and total energy per unit mass against distance from the primary, in units where GM = 1. The total is a horizontal line — it depends only on the semi-major axis — and the vis-viva relation is that statement solved for the speed.

One equation for the speed anywhere, and the eccentricity is not in it

The vis-viva relation gives the speed at any point of any orbit from two numbers. What it leaves out is the surprise — the shape of the orbit does not appear at all.

The formula that exists, and is not used

Kepler's equation does have a closed-form solution — an infinite series in the eccentricity, written down by Lagrange. It converges up to e = 0.6627434 and not one part beyond, and that number has nothing to do with astronomy.

Three rotations, applied in order. An orbit of eccentricity 0.45 carried into space by the three orientation angles, one panel per rotation: the argument of periapsis ω = 40°, then the inclination i = 42°, then the longitude of the ascending node Ω = 55°. The last panel applies the same three angles in the reverse order and arrives somewhere else, because rotations about different axes do not commute.

Three rotations that put an orbit in space, and they do not commute

An orbit's orientation takes three angles. Give the same three angles in a different order and the orbit ends up somewhere else — which is why the convention is part of the data.

The effective potential, for three angular momenta. The radial motion of an orbiting body is one-dimensional motion in an effective potential: the attraction −GM/r plus the centrifugal term L²/2r² that the angular momentum contributes. The barrier at small radius is what stops a body with any angular momentum at all from reaching the centre, and the bottom of each well is the circular orbit.

The wall that angular momentum builds

A body falling toward a star almost never arrives. Sideways motion, which looks like a detail of the initial conditions, turns the attraction into a well with a wall around the middle of it — and the wall is why it costs more fuel to hit the Sun than to leave the solar system.

The osculating semi-major axis of a perturbed orbit. The semi-major axis a test particle would have if the perturber vanished, computed from its position and velocity at every step of an integration over 26 orbits of the perturber. It is not constant: a short-period ripple rides on a slow trend, and only the trend accumulates.

Elements that do not stay constant

Six numbers fix an orbit for all time, and the phrase is only true in a universe containing two bodies. Add a third and the six start moving — some of them wandering and returning, one or two of them drifting in one direction forever, and the difference between those two behaviours is the whole of celestial mechanics after Newton.

The mass correction against the mass. Each planet's departure from the massless harmonic law, against its own mass in solar units, on logarithmic axes. The exact law puts every point on the diagonal. Jupiter and Saturn are the only planets whose mass correction is larger than the perturbations from everything else, and Saturn's measured departure has the opposite sign.

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.

1I/ʻOumuamua: an orbit at e = 1.201, and the angle it turned through. The open branch of a conic at eccentricity 1.201 and periapsis 0.2559 AU, with the Sun at the occupied focus. Two numbers fix everything else: |a| = q/(e−1) = 1.273 AU, an impact parameter b = |a|√(e²−1) = 0.847 AU, an asymptote at ν∞ = arccos(−1/e) = 146.37° from periapsis, and a deflection of δ = 2ν∞ − 180° = 112.74° — which is the same statement as sin(δ/2) = 1/e. The asymptotes cross at |a|e = 1.529 AU from the Sun on the periapsis side, where a bound orbit's centre would be on the other. The speed left over at infinity is √(μ/|a|) = 26.40 km/s. Schematic in one respect: the drawing runs at about 119 px to the AU, so the Sun's own disc would be far smaller than its marker.

The orbit that has no period

Above an eccentricity of 1 the conic is open, the energy is positive and the semi-major axis is negative — and the vis-viva relation survives the sign change without a single alteration. What replaces the period is a speed, and that speed is what says where a visitor came from.

Aiming at a plane instead of at a planet

A spacecraft arriving at a planet is not aimed at a periapsis distance. It is aimed at a point in a plane perpendicular to its own incoming asymptote, because that is the one coordinate in which the miss distance responds linearly to a correction — and every navigation product ever published for a flyby is written in it.

Ceres from five directions and no distance. Ceres seen five times over 41 days, from an Earth on a circular orbit, reduced in the plane. Each sighting gives a direction and no range, so the object is somewhere on its sight line; the five lines here span 1.37° of geocentric arc altogether, and Earth's own motion supplies the only baseline there is — 0.403 AU of its 0.691 AU of travel lies across the sight lines. A planar orbit is four numbers, so five angles over-determine it and one orbit comes out: a = 2.7658 AU, e = 0.0785. That is the answer and not an input — the sightings were generated at a = 2.7658 AU and e = 0.0785, and the solve, which sees only the directions and the dates, returns them to 3e-12. The two shaded sectors are what closes the determination: between the first and middle sightings the radius vector sweeps 0.2993 AU² in 21.0 days and between the middle and last 0.2853 AU² in 20.0 days, a ratio of 1.04918 against a time ratio of 1.04918. Slide all three crossings out along their sight lines together and that equality fails at once, so it fixes the distance by itself, with no propagation anywhere in the argument — and it gives a = 2.7658 AU over again. The two dashed curves are candidates that thread the same three sight lines at 85% and 108% of the recovered distance: a = 1.86 AU at e = 0.35, sweeping its areas in a ratio 4.5% wrong; and a = 5.61 AU at e = 0.49, sweeping its areas in a ratio 2.9% wrong. A few per cent in the distance is an orbit of another kind, which is the same fact the conditioning panel measures: one arcsecond of angle error moves a by 0.60% on this arc.

Five directions and no distance among them

An image of a moving point records an angle and throws the range away, so an orbit has to be assembled out of angles alone. How many angles are needed is not a detail of the method — it is the whole of what a determination is.

Four conics through one periapsis, drawn by one solve. Distance from the Sun against time for four orbits sharing a periapsis of 0.5 AU, at e = 0.6, e = 1, e = 1.0001, e = 1.4, over 900 days. Every point on every curve came from the same universal Kepler solve — no branch on the conic class anywhere in it — and each curve was then checked against the classical solution of its own kind at the midpoint: Kepler's equation at e = 0.6 agrees to machine precision; Barker's cubic at e = 1 agrees to machine precision; e sinh H − H at e = 1.0001 agrees to machine precision; e sinh H − H at e = 1.4 agrees to machine precision. The curve to read twice is e = 1.0001: over this arc it lies within 0.02% of the parabola and is indistinguishable from it, and it is the only one of the four whose fate the drawing cannot show. What the classical parameterisation costs there is arithmetic rather than impossibility: at the midpoint of this arc, e sinh H − H throws away 3.3 of its sixteen digits to cancellation, against 0.2 at e = 1.4 — enough to matter to an ephemeris and not enough to stop a plot.

The one solve that does not ask which conic it is

Kepler's equation is for ellipses, Barker's cubic for parabolas, and a hyperbolic sine for the rest — three parameterisations of one motion, each worst exactly where its neighbour takes over. The universal variable removes the question, and the removal is not a convenience.

Four averages of one distance, and the two of them that are the semi-major axis. The average distance of a body from its primary, against eccentricity and in units of the semi-major axis, computed four ways: averaged over time, over true anomaly, over eccentric anomaly, and as the harmonic mean in time. Every curve is a quadrature over the orbit — 2,048 panels uniform in eccentric anomaly, with Kepler's equation supplying the time weight — and not a closed form. Two of the four are exactly a at every eccentricity, which is why they are drawn as one line: the eccentric-anomaly average, because the mean of cos E over a turn is zero, and the harmonic mean in time, because the time weight cancels 1/r at every node before the sum begins. The other two are not: the time average is a(1 + e²/2), which rises to 1.4050 a at e = 0.9, and the true-anomaly average is a√(1−e²) — the semi-minor axis — which falls to 0.4359 a there. So a is the average distance in two senses out of four, and the ordering b ≤ a ≤ ⟨r⟩ₜ holds at every eccentricity with equality only on the circle. At Earth's e = 0.0167 the four agree to 0.014%, and at Mercury's e = 0.2056 the spread is 2.14%. The distinction is invisible for the planets and unavoidable for a comet, and it is the reason a quoted "mean distance" has to say which mean.

The average depends on what is being averaged

Four ways of averaging one orbit's distance from its primary give four different numbers, and only two of them are the semi-major axis. Which two is not a matter of convention, and the same arithmetic decides how much sunlight a planet receives in a year.

One squaring, and the singularity is gone. Left, a harmonic oscillator: an ellipse centred on the origin, marked at 24 equal steps of its own phase. Right, the same points after squaring as complex numbers, u ↦ u². The image is an ellipse with the origin at a focus — checked here by the focal property, r₁ + r₂ = 2a to nine figures at four points — with semi-axes (A²+B²)/2 = 2.5000 and AB = 1.5000 and the focus at (A²−B²)/2 = 2.0000, which is ae exactly. Three things follow at once. The angle doubles, so one turn of the oscillator is one whole orbit traversed twice as fast in phase; the equal phase steps on the left arrive as the eccentric anomaly on the right, which is why that anomaly and not the true one is what the equations want; and the collision at r = 0, where the inverse square is infinite, is the point u = 0, where the oscillator has a perfectly ordinary velocity. The singularity was a property of the coordinates.

The singularity that is a change of variable

The Kepler problem blows up at zero separation, and a fixed-step integrator falls apart long before it gets there. Divide time by the radius and the equations become a harmonic oscillator — exactly, for every conic at once.

Two places and a clock decide the path

The time to fly between two points depends on the semi-major axis, the chord between them, and the sum of their distances — and on nothing else about the orbit. Not the eccentricity, not where periapsis is, not the orientation. Lambert's theorem is why an interplanetary launch date is the root of one equation.

The angle that has nowhere to be measured from. An eccentricity vector carried round a circle of radius 0.034 centred at 0.031 — which is what a secular perturbation does to one, a forced eccentricity with a free one turning about it. Below, the two components e cos ϖ and e sin ϖ, which are smooth, bounded and perfectly ordinary throughout. Above, the longitude of pericentre read off them, which is not: as the eccentricity passes its minimum of 0.0030 the pericentre sweeps through most of a circle, at up to 4080° per unit time against the 12° the free vector itself turns in the same interval. Nothing has happened to the orbit. The pericentre is a place on the orbit, and a nearly circular orbit does not have one — so ω, and Ω with it at zero inclination, are angles measured from a feature that is not there. The equinoctial elements are the pair drawn below, and a propagator written in them steps through this instant without noticing it.

The elements that stop existing

An orbit needs six numbers, and three of the usual six are angles measured from features a perfectly ordinary orbit may not have. At zero eccentricity there is no pericentre to measure from, and the arithmetic knows it.

An inclination that turns into an eccentricity

A distant companion cannot change an orbit's size or its energy. It can take a circular orbit tilted past 39.23 degrees and drive it to an eccentricity near one, and back, over and over — and the companion's mass and distance set only the clock.

The same thrust is worth 2.08 times more at perigee, and out of plane it is worth nothing at all. The rate of change of the semi-major axis under a unit acceleration in each of the three directions, against position around an orbit of eccentricity 0.35, from Gauss's variational equations. The along-track curve carries the factor p/r = 1 + e cos f and therefore peaks at perigee, where the same impulse is worth 2.08 times what it is worth at apogee — the whole of the Oberth effect, arriving as a term in a differential equation rather than as an argument about kinetic energy. The radial curve is antisymmetric about apoapsis and integrates to exactly zero over a revolution: pushing outwards for half an orbit and being pushed back for the other half changes the energy by nothing, which is checked here by quadrature and comes out at -9.0e-18. And the out-of-plane response is identically zero at every point of the orbit, because W is perpendicular to the velocity and does no work. An orbital plane can be rotated without touching the energy, and that is why a plane change is so expensive: none of what is spent goes anywhere useful.

Which direction moves which element

Resolve a small force into three components and Gauss's equations say exactly what each one does. The out-of-plane component can rotate an orbit and can never change its energy; the along-track component owns the semi-major axis outright and is worth more at perigee than at apogee by a factor that is pure geometry.

Earth's eccentricity is a sum of 8 sinusoids. The eccentricity of Earth over 800 thousand years, from the Laplace–Lagrange solution for all eight planets — the secular matrix built from the JPL masses and semi-major axes, symmetrised, and diagonalised by Jacobi rotations. It runs between 0.0035 and 0.0436, and it has no period, because it is a sum of 8 incommensurable frequencies. The two largest contributions to this planet are the modes at 3.73 and 7.33 arcseconds per year, drawn as the flat lines: those are constants, and everything moving in the figure is their beat. The check is the quadratic form ½ΣΛe², which a symmetric secular matrix conserves exactly and which drifts by 6.7e-16 across the whole interval — computed from the same curves the figure draws and from nothing the eigenvalues were fitted to. The true angular momentum deficit, Σ Λ(1 − √(1−e²)), drifts by 7.1e-4, and that difference is not an error either: the two agree only to fourth order in e, and Mercury at 0.206 supplies almost all of the gap.

No planet has an eccentricity of its own

Strip the short-period terms out of the planetary equations and what is left is a linear system. Its eigenvectors are modes of the whole solar system, and the number a catalogue quotes for a planet's eccentricity turns out to be a reading of a clock rather than a property of the planet.

One admissible root, 0.01% from the truth. Gauss's reduction of three directions to a distance, drawn as the two relations whose intersection it is. Three observations of Ceres on days 0, 20, 40 of an arc, generated from its elements and used only as sight directions — no range, no radial velocity. The rising curve is geometry: the heliocentric distance a candidate at geocentric distance ρ₂ would have, r₂² = ρ₂² + 2ρ₂(R₂·L̂₂) + R₂², which contains no dynamics at all. The falling curve is dynamics: ρ₂ = A + µB/r₂³, with A and B built from the three sight vectors, the three observer positions and the three times, and containing no orbit. Eliminating ρ₂ between them gives r₂⁸ + a r₂⁶ + b r₂³ + c = 0 — an eighth-degree equation, from a problem with exactly as many equations as unknowns. Here they cross once at a positive ρ₂, at r₂ = 2.5893 AU against the true 2.5890. The other 2 real roots are rejected not by fitting but by sign: the ρ₂ each implies is negative, and an object behind the observer was not the thing observed.

Three observations and no orbit at all

Three directions in space give six numbers for the six elements of an orbit, which sounds like a solved problem. The algebra that solves it is of the eighth degree, and for a near-Earth asteroid three perfect observations can be consistent with three different orbits.

5 transfers through the same two points in the same 1400 days. Time of flight against semi-major axis for every transfer through two points 135° apart at 1 and 1.524 AU, with the revolution count running from 0 to 2. Each count contributes two branches, and for N ≥ 1 the pair folds: the time has a minimum at a = 1.2426 AU for one revolution — only 2.2 per cent above the minimum-energy value of 1.2161, which is why the horizontal axis is the excess over that value and logarithmic — so a flight time above it is met twice and below it not at all. Reading the crossings of the 1400-day line off the drawn curves gives 5 of them — 0 revs high, 1 rev low, 1 rev high, 2 revs low, 2 revs high — which is 2N + 1 with N = 2, and the count is a property of the time rather than of the geometry. That is the practical content: a root-finder started from a single guess returns one of these 5 and gives no sign that the other 4 exist, and the cheapest of them is often not the one nearest the guess.

One time of flight and five ways round

Lambert's theorem says two positions and an interval fix the transfer. Allow the transfer to complete whole revolutions and that stops being true: the flight time folds, one number admits five arcs, and the cheapest of them is usually not the one a solver started nearest to.

Mars to five metres and Neptune to five thousand kilometres, in the same file. Present-day heliocentric position uncertainty for each planet, in kilometres, with the range component marked separately below it. The two differ because a transponder measures a distance along the line of sight and says nothing about the two directions across it, so a planet with an orbiter is known radially some 17 times better than it is known altogether. Neptune is 10⁶ times less well determined than Mars and only 20 times further away, which is the whole point: the accuracy is a property of the observations, not of the geometry. Mars has carried a transponder almost continuously since 1976; Neptune has been visited once, in 1989, and everything else known about it is meridian-circle astrometry covering 1.07 of one orbit. The two ice giants are the only entries here whose ephemerides are still limited by nineteenth-century technology, and the only cure is a spacecraft.

The table that is a fit

A planetary ephemeris is not evaluated from Kepler's laws and is not evaluated from a theory. It is a numerical integration whose starting conditions were least-squares fitted to a century and a half of observations, and its accuracy is a property of those observations rather than of the mathematics.

After one revolution the error is 3π times longer than it is wide, and after 300 it is 2827. The two semi-axes of a fitted orbit's position uncertainty, against elapsed revolutions, for a solution whose semi-major axis is uncertain by 12 kilometres. The radial extent does not grow at all: a body on a slightly larger orbit is slightly further out and stays so. The along-track extent grows linearly, because δn/n = −(3/2)δa/a makes a semi-major-axis error into a mean-motion error and a mean-motion error into a phase that runs away — a·δM = 3πN·δa after N revolutions. The ratio is 3π ≈ 9.42 after a single revolution and 2827 after 300, which is why an asteroid recovered after one apparition is found within a few arcseconds of its predicted place along its own track and could be a long way from it in time. Every consequence of this in practice — that an impact probability is a one-dimensional integral rather than a volume, that a keyhole is an interval, that the next observation worth taking is the one across the track rather than the one that fits best — is a restatement of these two lines diverging.

An error that is nearly all in one direction

A fitted orbit's uncertainty is not a ball. Within a few revolutions it has collapsed onto a line along the track, because an error in the size of an orbit is an error in its period and an error in period is a phase that runs away — which is why an impact probability is an integral along a curve rather than over a volume.

$Every model curve has slope −1, and four measurements agree on κ to 1.5×. Semi-major-axis drift against body diameter, for a thermal recoil in which a fraction κ = 0.085 of the absorbed sunlight comes back out along-track. The three curves are the same expression at 1, 1.6, 2.5 astronomical units, and each has a slope of exactly −1: the acceleration is the absorbed power divided by the mass, which is a cross-section over a volume, so it falls as one over the size and nothing else on this axis changes it. A kilometre-wide body drifts a few metres a year; a ten-metre one drifts hundreds. The four filled marks are the bodies whose drift has actually been measured as a fitted parameter in an orbit solution, and they do not lie on any single curve because each carries its own density, distance and obliquity. What they agree about is the number beside each: solve every measured drift for the efficiency that would produce it and the four answers are 0.084, 0.085, 0.089, 0.129 — a factor of 1.5 apart, for a quantity that could in principle have been anything from zero to a fifth. That agreement is the evidence that the mechanism is understood, and it is the only evidence there is, because the thermal conductivity that sets κ has never been measured for any of them.$

An orbit moved by heat

A rotating body re-radiates absorbed sunlight from the hemisphere that has had time to warm, so the recoil is not aimed at the Sun. The resulting force is a few parts in ten billion of gravity, it is the only orbital force whose sign depends on which way the body spins, and it has been measured to four figures.

The divisor is 0.129″/yr and the theory's own error is 0.24. Six frequencies of the secular solar system on one logarithmic axis, in arcseconds per year. The top two are the pair whose near-equality is the whole story: the perihelia of Mercury and Jupiter separate at 1.333″ a year, the nodes of Mercury and Venus at 1.462, and the difference of those two differences is 0.129 — a resonant argument that turns once every 10.0 million years. A term with that argument in the disturbing function acts in one direction for five million years at a stretch, which is what pumps Mercury's eccentricity, and it is the reason the inner solar system's Lyapunov time is what it is. The bottom three bars are why this figure exists. The divisor is smaller than the corrections the theory that computes it leaves out. Relativity contributes 0.4298″ a year to g₁ alone — the same 43 arcseconds a century that broke Newtonian gravity — which is 3.3 times the divisor; the fourth-order terms in the eccentricity that Laplace–Lagrange truncates come to about 0.24″, which is 1.8 times it; and the second-order solution computed on this page gets 0.35″, missing the published value by more than the value itself. A theory cannot bound what it cannot resolve. Laplace's proof that the eccentricities stay bounded is a proof about a system whose frequencies are constants, and the frequency that decides the question is not one.

The bound that holds only in the linear theory

Laplace proved the planetary eccentricities bounded, and the proof is a proof about a linearised system with constant frequencies. One combination of those frequencies is nearly zero — and it is smaller than the terms the linearisation threw away, which is why the stability of the solar system is a probability rather than a theorem.

A collision dated by a scatter plot

Nothing in the solar system carries a date. A collisional family does — because a force that depends on a body's size has been pushing its fragments apart ever since, so the cloud is a V whose slope is an elapsed time, and one of those dates is confirmed by fossil meteorites in Swedish limestone.

$A clock that is a straight line for three billion years and then is not. The lunar chronology function: craters of a kilometre or more per square kilometre against the age of the surface, with the count logarithmic and time not. The dashed line is the present impact rate extrapolated backwards, and it accounts for the whole curve up to 3.1 billion years — over that entire range, dating a surface is dividing a crater count by a constant. The rate itself, read off the slope of the drawn curve at the present day, is 8.4·10⁻⁴ craters per square kilometre per billion years, which over the whole Moon is about 32 new craters of a kilometre or more per million years. Past three and a half billion years the exponential term takes over and the curve turns almost vertical: ground that is 4.1 billion years old carries 26 times the crater density of ground 3.5 billion years old, for a difference in age of six hundred million years. Most of the craters on the Moon were made in a small fraction of its life, and nothing that happened after them is recorded anything like as densely. The six marked ages are laboratory measurements on returned rock, and they are what makes the curve a chronology rather than a shape — the Moon is the only body whose crater counts and whose radiometric ages have ever been measured on the same square kilometre.$

A surface dated by counting holes in it

Every age quoted for a surface in the solar system outside the Earth — a Martian lava flow, a crater on Mercury, the ice of Europa — comes from counting craters and passing the count through one curve. That curve was calibrated on nine square kilometres of the Moon, and it is nearly a straight line for three billion years and then is not.

A comet that arrives a day early

Encke's comet returned two and a half hours ahead of prediction, every revolution, for decades before anybody could say what was pushing it. The force is a rocket — a few tonnes a second of vapour leaving the sunward side of a rotating nucleus, delivered almost entirely in the few weeks around perihelion, and it accumulates in the arrival time as the square of the number of returns.

Mass at the top, area at the bottom, 10 decades apart. Two moments of a collisional cascade's size distribution, per logarithmic interval of diameter, over 10 decades from a ten-micron grain to a hundred-kilometre parent body. Both axes are logarithmic and the vertical scale is arbitrary; only the slopes carry the argument. A population in which every collision makes fragments that go on to collide reaches a steady state where the same mass flows through every size per unit time, and that fixes the differential number distribution at an index of 3.5. The two consequences pull opposite ways. Mass per decade goes as the diameter to the power 0.5, so it climbs and almost all the mass is in the largest few bodies. Cross-sectional area per decade goes as the diameter to the power -0.5, so it falls, and almost all the area — which is what scatters light, what is detected, and what anything passing through gets hit by — is in the smallest. Over the range drawn the small end carries 10⁵ times the area of the large end and 10⁻⁵ times its mass. A disc's brightness therefore measures a population whose mass it says nothing whatever about, and the two numbers are connected only through the index of this line.

Where the mass is and where the light is

A population that grinds itself up settles into a size distribution with a fixed slope, and that slope puts almost all the mass in the largest bodies and almost all the cross-section in the smallest. So a debris disc's brightness measures a population whose mass it says nothing about, and the two are connected only by the exponent.

Relativity switches the cycle off, halving its reach at a ratio of 0.80. The greatest eccentricity a Kozai–Lidov cycle reaches, against the strength of the orbit's own relativistic pericentre precession, measured in units of the cycle's own precession rate at zero eccentricity. The horizontal axis is logarithmic and spans three decades. At the left the relativistic term is negligible and the cycle reaches 0.838, which is the closed-form value for a start at 65 degrees and is what the integration is checked against. At the right it is gone. The mechanism depends on the pericentre staying put while the outer body pulls on the same side of the orbit for a whole cycle, and the relativistic precession is a competing rotation of that same pericentre; when it is faster, the pull averages away. The threshold sits near one by construction and the transition is sharp rather than gradual, with the reach halved at 0.80. What makes it matter is where the relativistic term is largest: it grows as the pericentre falls, so it strengthens exactly as the cycle drives the orbit inward, and it therefore sets a floor on the pericentre distance that this mechanism can deliver a body to.

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.

An invariant that is only almost one

The Tisserand parameter survives a close encounter with Jupiter exactly, and comet families are separated by boundaries in it drawn to two decimal places. The exactness holds for a Jupiter on a circle. Jupiter's eccentricity is 0.0489, and integrating the same encounter twice shows what that costs.

The 2.3-hour spin barrier, and the small bodies that are allowed through it. Rotation period against diameter for a synthetic asteroid population, both axes logarithmic, with the horizontal lines marking where a body held together by nothing but its own gravity would fly apart. That limit is P = √(3π/Gρ) and it contains only the density: 3.30 hours at 1 gram per cubic centimetre, 2.33 hours at 2 gram per cubic centimetre, 1.91 hours at 3 gram per cubic centimetre. Size does not appear in it, which is what makes the figure's shape informative rather than obvious — a barrier that depended on size would be drawn as a slope, and a horizontal line crossing five decades of diameter is a much stronger statement. The observed population respects it. Above about two hundred metres nothing rotates faster than the 2.3-hour line, and the crowding just below that line is real: bodies pile up against a limit they cannot cross. Below two hundred metres the wall stops applying and the fast rotators appear, some of them turning in minutes. Nothing about gravity changes at that size. What changes is that a body small enough is a single coherent rock with tensile strength, while a body large enough is a pile of fragments with almost none, and the barrier is a measurement of which is which. The picture is a synthetic population drawn at random from a fixed seed rather than a catalogue, so the individual points are not asteroids; what is real is the barrier, its value, and the fact that only the smallest bodies are found beyond it.

A wall with no size in it

Spin a body held together by nothing but its own gravity, and past a certain rate it comes apart. The rate depends on density alone — 2.3 hours for the stuff asteroids are made of — and the observed population respects the limit exactly, for every body larger than a couple of hundred metres.

Drift against thermal inertia: a peak at Γ = 93, in the same place for every size. How fast an asteroid's orbit drifts under its own re-radiated heat, against the thermal inertia of its surface, at a rotation period of 4.3 hours and 1.13 astronomical units. Both axes are logarithmic, and the curves are four diameters. The non-monotonic shape is the content. A surface that conducts nothing re-radiates its heat the instant it receives it: the emission is then symmetric about the sub-solar point and the transverse push cancels exactly. A surface that conducts perfectly is isothermal, has no temperature contrast at all, and again pushes nowhere. The force lives between those two nothings, and peaks where the surface's thermal time constant is comparable to the rotation period — here at Γ = 93 in SI units, and at the same place on every curve, because the size scales the drift without moving the optimum. That separation is what makes the effect a measurement. A drift rate on its own is a single number with several unknowns in it; a drift rate together with a size from radar, a spin from a light curve and a density from a flyby leaves the thermal inertia as the only thing not measured, and solving for it says what the surface is made of. Fine dust sits near 50, bare rock in the thousands, and the values measured for the bodies spacecraft have visited — Bennu at 310, Ryugu at 225, Itokawa at 700 — straddle the peak, with the two rubble piles a factor of two or three above it and the Moon's dust well below. Being past the optimum is not a small effect but it is a gentle one: the curve falls as one over the thermal inertia on that side, so a surface three times more conductive than optimal still drifts at a third of the best rate, while one three times more insulating drifts at a third as well. The shape is symmetric in the logarithm, which is why the measurement is a good one for telling dust from pebbles and a poor one for telling pebbles from boulders. The curve is one-dimensional linear theory for a rotating half-space: it has the right limits and the right peak, and it omits the body's shape, which for an irregular asteroid changes the answer by tens of per cent.

A drift rate that says what the surface is made of

The thermal recoil that moves an asteroid's orbit depends on how long its surface holds heat, and the dependence is not monotonic — a perfect insulator and a perfect conductor both push nothing. The peak in between means a measured drift is a measurement of thermal inertia, which is a measurement of grain size.

A cut-off period that is an age

Plot eccentricity against orbital period for the binary stars of one cluster and the picture has a wall in it. Below a certain period every orbit is circular; above it, the original spread survives untouched. The wall moves outward as the cluster ages, and where it stands is a measurement of how stars dissipate a tide.

$Who holds the mass, and who holds the spin. The solar system's two ledgers on one logarithmic axis, each row a body or a group of them, with the pale bar its share of the mass and the dark bar its share of the angular momentum. Both columns are computed rather than quoted: the Sun's spin from 0.07 M R² Ω at a 25.38-day rotation, each planet's orbit from M √(GM☉ a (1 − e²)) with its own semi-major axis and eccentricity, and both sums are required to close to one part in a billion. The Sun holds 99.866 per cent of the mass and 0.61 per cent of the angular momentum. Jupiter holds 0.095 per cent of the mass and 61.1 per cent of the angular momentum, so a body a thousandth of the system by weight carries most of its rotation. The four inner planets together account for 0.0016 of it. A cloud collapsing to make this system had to move nearly all of its spin outward onto a small fraction of its mass, and the ledger is what that operation looks like when it is finished. What the figure cannot show is where the transfer happened, because everything that carried it away has either fallen in or left.$

Ninety-nine per cent of the mass and none of the spin

The Sun holds 99.87 per cent of the solar system's mass and 0.6 per cent of its angular momentum. Jupiter holds a thousandth of the mass and three-fifths of the spin. That is not a curiosity of accounting — it is the record of the single operation that had to succeed before a star could form at all.

A resonance with the planet's rotation, and it sorts by size. Above: the radii at which a charged grain's orbital frequency is commensurate with the planet's spin, in planetary radii, with the measured edges of Jupiter's halo ring drawn over them. The synchronous radius is 2.24; the 3:2 resonance falls at 1.71 and the 2:1 at 1.41. The halo's outer boundary is at 1.71 and its inner extent near 1.4 — the ring ends where the resonances are, and both numbers were measured by a spacecraft camera with no reference to this arithmetic. Below: which grains care. The charge on a grain is proportional to its radius and the mass to the cube, so the force per unit mass goes exactly as the inverse square of the size, and the resonance grips sub-micron dust while leaving anything larger on a Keplerian orbit. That is why the halo is a cloud of fine dust puffed a thousand kilometres out of the ring plane while the coarse material stays flat: the same field acting on the same orbit sorts the material by size, which no gravitational resonance can do.

A resonance with the planet itself

Every other resonance in celestial mechanics is a commensurability between two orbits. A charged dust grain has a third clock available — the planet's rotation, which sweeps its magnetic field past the grain — and the commensurability with that selects by charge-to-mass ratio, which means by grain size.

The two halves of what is left over. The disturbing potential of a perturber on a test particle, against the difference in longitude between them, at a semi-major axis ratio of 0.62. The upper curve is the direct term — the perturber's own attraction, which peaks at conjunction where the separation is smallest and falls to 1/(1+α) half a turn later. The lower one is the indirect term, which exists only because the coordinates are centred on a primary that is itself being accelerated, and which is a pure cosine of the longitude difference. The indirect term is the larger of the two over 3 per cent of the circle, and it averages to exactly zero while the direct term averages to something positive. Everything that happens slowly in a planetary system comes from that asymmetry: the part that survives averaging is not the part that dominates the instantaneous force.

The series that is subtracted

The two-body problem is solved, so nobody solves it twice. Every planetary theory since Newton begins by taking that solution away and asking what is left — and what is left is an infinite series whose terms are stacked in a hierarchy that makes the first half-dozen of them enough.

The best-fitting eccentricity of a circular orbit. What a fitted eccentricity comes out at when the orbit's true eccentricity is 0 and each component of the eccentricity vector carries an error of 0.03. The distribution is not centred on the truth and cannot be: an eccentricity is the length of the vector (e cos ϖ, e sin ϖ), lengths are not negative, and a quantity bounded below by zero whose components scatter symmetrically has a distribution pushed away from the bound. For a circular orbit the most likely fitted value is exactly one error bar, 0.0300 here, and the mean is 0.0376 — 1.2533 error bars, which is √(π/2) and comes from geometry rather than from any property of the data. The practical consequence is a catalogue of small eccentricities that are all measurements of their own error bars, and the fix is not a better fit but a different question: an upper limit rather than a value.

An eccentricity that cannot be zero

Fit an orbit to noisy data and the eccentricity that comes back is never zero, not even when the orbit is a perfect circle. The reason has nothing to do with the data and everything to do with the fact that a length cannot be negative.

Three passes, and the fourth is below the noise. How far the position is still wrong after each pass of the light-time iteration, for five targets, on a logarithmic scale of kilometres. The first pass uses the body's position now and is wrong by exactly the distance the body travels while its light is in transit — 6254 kilometres for Mars near opposition, which is about twenty-five arcseconds and larger than any residual in an ephemeris fit. Each further pass multiplies the error by the body's speed divided by the speed of light, so the lines are straight and their slopes are that ratio and nothing else. Three passes take every one of these below a metre, which is why the loop in an ephemeris code has a fixed trip count rather than a convergence test. The same argument run backwards is why the correction cannot be applied to the observation instead: the direction light arrived from is what the observation is, and the position it corresponds to is not known until the body's orbit is.

Where a planet is and where it is seen

An ephemeris is fitted to observations, and no observation is of a position. It is of a direction light arrived from, at a time that is not the time the light left, bent by a Sun that is nowhere near the line of sight. Three corrections stand between the two, and all three are larger than the residuals.

A branch that adds nothing above 1 km and everything below it. Cumulative crater counts on a 3.5-billion-year-old surface, with the population split into the craters made by objects arriving from outside and the craters made by blocks thrown out of larger ones on the same surface. The two are indistinguishable in a photograph and completely different as a statistic. Secondaries stop at about 1 kilometre, because that is the largest crater a block leaving at a few hundred metres a second can excavate, so the upper half of the plot is unaffected. Below it they are steeper — slope -3.2 against the primaries' -2 — and by the smallest diameter drawn they outnumber the primaries 292 to one. A count taken at 100 metres and read through the primary production curve returns an age of 4.34 billion years for ground that is 3.5, and it returns it with a small formal error, because the counting statistics are excellent. The error is not in the counting.

The craters that were not primary

Counting craters dates a surface, and the method works because impacts from space arrive at a known rate. Some of the holes were not made from space. They were made by rock thrown out of the larger holes on the same surface, and they are far more numerous than anything that arrived.

An acceleration that was the spacecraft's own heat

Two probes leaving the solar system were tracked for thirty years and both drifted from their predicted paths by a tenth of a nanometre per second squared. The residual was real, it was constant, and it was the same on both. It was also the waste heat of the reactors that powered them, radiating slightly more one way than the other.

The drag that sorts a disc by size

Starlight does three different things to a dust grain depending on how big it is — blows it out of the system, drags it inward over millennia, or ignores it entirely. Which one happens is decided by a single length, and whether it happens at all is decided by how crowded the disc is.

June sunlight at 65°N, against where perihelion sits. Daily-mean insolation at latitude 65 degrees north on the June solstice, at an obliquity of 23.44 degrees, against the longitude of perihelion measured from the March equinox — the angle that precesses right round in about twenty-one thousand years. Three eccentricities are drawn. The swing is ±10.0 per cent at e = 0.05 and ±1.0 per cent at e = 0.005, in proportion to the eccentricity, because the Sun–Earth distance on a fixed date carries e cos of the precession angle and that is first order. Over the same range of eccentricity the annual mean at this latitude moves by 0.12 per cent, because the annual mean carries 1/√(1−e²) and that is second order. The two together are the whole of the precession term in Milankovitch's theory: the eccentricity does almost nothing to how much sunlight the Earth receives and a great deal to when it arrives, and the ice sheets of the northern hemisphere respond to the summer they might melt in rather than to the year's total. It also explains why the precession signal disappears when the orbit is nearly circular: multiply a large angular swing by a vanishing eccentricity and there is nothing left, which is what the innermost curve here is.

An average that precession cannot move

Sunlight arrives as the inverse square of the distance and time passes as its square, so the two cancel exactly in a year's integral. The longitude of perihelion therefore changes the annual mean insolation at every latitude by precisely nothing — and changes June at 65°N by ten per cent.

$A family of 276, or of 582, depending on one number. Membership of a synthetic family against the cutoff velocity used to define it, for a family of 260 genuine fragments ejected at 15 metres a second sitting in a background of 417 unrelated bodies. The clustering is single linkage in the standard proper-element metric, started from one object and grown until nothing more is within the cutoff of anything already absorbed. Three curves: the number of objects claimed, scaled to its largest value; the fraction of the real family recovered; and the fraction of the claim that is background. The shape is the whole difficulty. At low cutoff the family is fragmented and only its core is found. There is then a plateau — near 58 metres a second here, giving 276 members of which 6 per cent are background — and that plateau is what every published family list is chosen at. Past it the count runs away, because single linkage absorbs an object and then searches from the object it has just absorbed: one chance interloper bridges the family to the belt and the algorithm returns half the main belt. Completeness and contamination rise together, so there is no cutoff at which both are good and the plateau is a compromise rather than a discovery.$

A family whose size is a choice

Nothing observable distinguishes a collisional fragment from an asteroid that happens to be nearby. Membership is assigned by clustering at a cutoff velocity, and the same family has 276 members or 582 according to which cutoff is used — with completeness and contamination rising together, so no cutoff is good.

Nine dates, and a gap from 0.8 to 3.1 billion years. The lunar crater chronology and the samples that fix it: crater density per square kilometre against age, the density axis logarithmic. Every point is a laboratory measurement on returned rock — six mare and highland units dated by crystallisation, four young craters dated by how long their ejecta has been exposed to cosmic rays. The curve is a fit of N(T) = A(e^(λT) − 1) + BT with the exponential rate swept over 6 to 7.9 per billion years and the two amplitudes refitted at each; the best fit lands at λ = 6.95, against the 6.93 the published chronology uses, which is a check on the fitting rather than an input to it. What the figure exists to show is where the calibrating samples fall in time. Six of them lie between 3.15 and 3.92 billion years, four between 0.026 and 0.80, and there is nothing whatever between 0.8 and 3.1 — a gap covering half the age of the solar system. The consequence is drawn as the spread of the acceptable curves: a surface whose crater density says 3.5 billion years is dated to ±0.03 billion by this family, and a surface at 2 billion to ±0.13. The chronology is a measurement where the astronauts landed and an interpolation everywhere else.

Nine dates for every surface in the solar system

Every absolute age quoted for a planetary surface — Martian volcanism, Mercury's plains, the resurfacing of Europa — descends from radiometric dates on rocks returned from nine landing sites on one body. Six of them fall between 3.15 and 3.92 billion years, and there is nothing at all between 0.8 and 3.1.

Only two force laws let an orbit come back

That a planet returns to the same point of its own path after one lap is not a fact about orbits. It is a fact about the exponent in the force, and out of the whole continuum of attractions only two — the inverse square, and a spring — bring every bound orbit back to where it started.

The same well after the primary has lost 45 per cent of its mass. Two effective potentials for one body: the solid curve before the primary loses mass and the faint one after, both at the same angular momentum, because a central force of any strength exerts no torque. The well shallows and its floor moves out from r = 1.00 to 1.82. The body's own level moves with it — from E = -0.420 to -0.127 — and the two horizontal lines are drawn where the radial action is conserved, which puts the turning points at 0.71–1.67 before and 1.30–3.03 after. The ratio between them is 2.3333 in both, so the orbit is the same shape at a larger size: everything about the body's path has scaled and its eccentricity of 0.4 has not moved. That is what a slow change leaves behind, and it is not what a sudden one leaves.

The well moves, and the body keeps its share of it

When the Sun becomes a white dwarf it will throw away half its mass, and every planet's orbit will swell by the same factor. Their eccentricities will not change at all — provided the loss is slow, and the only meaning "slow" has here is slow compared with one orbital period.

A wall measures a ratio, and a ratio is a line

The same circularisation boundary drawn for planets probes the dissipation inside the planet rather than inside the star. But the boundary depends only on age over Q′, so with no cluster to date the system the measurement is a line in a plane and never a point on it.

Two damping times, one crossing, and the slope that separates them

The equilibrium tide gives a damping time going as the sixteen-thirds power of the period and the dynamical tide as the seventh. One cluster measures one number and both theories have a free normalisation, so one cluster cannot choose.

A wall at 2.33 hours that bends into a slope below 598 metres. The fastest rotation period a body of bulk density 2 g/cm³ can hold against its own spin, against its diameter, on logarithmic axes, for cohesive strengths of 0, 10, 100, 1000 pascals. With no cohesion the limit is the density-only barrier √(3π/Gρ) = 2.33 hours at every size. A cohesion C adds a stress that does not depend on size to a gravitational stress that goes as the square of the radius, so small bodies are held mostly by cohesion and can spin faster in proportion to their smallness: below the corner the limiting period goes as the diameter. The corner is where the two stresses are equal, at a diameter of 189 m for 10 Pa, 598 m for 100 Pa, 1.9 km for 1000 Pa. The scaling is the strength-regime form with a single coefficient of order one; detailed limits depend on the angle of friction and the shape. What the figure makes plain is why the observed spin barrier is sharp for kilometre-sized asteroids and fades below a few hundred metres, and why a handful of fast rotators a few hundred metres across can be rubble piles with a few tens of pascals of cohesion — a strength far below that of any rock — rather than monoliths.

A spin barrier with a corner in it

A rubble pile cannot spin faster than a period set by its density alone — 2.3 hours for most asteroids — at any size. Give it a cohesion of a few tens of pascals, weaker than any rock, and the barrier bends into a slope below a corner at a few hundred metres. The thermal torque that drives bodies to the barrier doubles their spin in a time that grows as the square of their size, so the bodies it pushes hardest are the ones that can go past.

$A rubble pile that splits below a mass ratio of 0.204 can lose its piece; above it, the piece stays. The total energy of two spherical components of equal density in contact, spinning together at the rate at which their mutual gravity just holds them against the spin, against the mass ratio of the smaller to the larger, in units of G m₁²/R₁. The energy is the kinetic energy of the rotating pair minus their mutual gravitational binding. When the smaller piece is a small fraction of the whole, the spin carries more energy than the binding and the total is positive: a body spun to breakup that sheds a fragment of that size has enough energy for the fragment to escape entirely, becoming a separate asteroid on a nearly identical orbit. The total changes sign at q = 0.204. Above that ratio the pair cannot separate without an energy source; it stays as a binary, orbiting and eventually synchronising, or re-accretes. As q goes to zero the energy tends to 0.2 G m₁²/R₁, the rotational energy of the primary alone at its breakup rate. Nothing in the threshold depends on the size or the density of the body — it is a pure number from the geometry of two touching spheres — and asteroid pairs sharing an orbit have been found overwhelmingly with estimated mass ratios below it.$

A split that decides whether the piece can leave

A rubble pile spun past its limit splits in two, and whether the smaller piece escapes or stays in orbit is not a matter of luck. Two touching spheres spinning at their shared limit have positive total energy only when the smaller is less than 0.204 of the larger's mass — a number with no size and no density in it. Below it the pieces can become a pair of asteroids on nearly identical orbits; above it, a binary. And the larger the piece that leaves, the slower the body left behind.

A cycle and a radiation, racing for the same pericentre. Two integrations of the same compact triple, in units of the cycle's own timescale at the starting separation. The dashed curves are the semi-major axis and the solid ones the eccentricity. Radiation alone shrinks the orbit slowly and smoothly, reaching a tenth of its starting size after 1136 cycle times — which the closed form for a circular inspiral predicts to within a few per cent, and which is the check that the integrator is right. With the cycle running, the distant companion drives the eccentricity to 0.9104, the pericentre falls by two orders of magnitude, and the radiation — whose rate goes as the inverse seventh power of one minus the square of the eccentricity — empties the orbit in 18. That is a factor of 62, obtained without changing a single parameter of either mechanism. The two do not merely add: the cycle manufactures, at its own peak, exactly the configuration in which the radiation is most efficient, and the radiation then shrinks the orbit until the relativistic precession switches the cycle off.

A cycle that builds what the wave needs

Gravitational radiation empties an orbit at a rate that goes as the inverse seventh power of one minus the square of the eccentricity. A distant companion drives exactly that eccentricity, over and over. The two are not independent mechanisms that happen to act on the same binary — the first manufactures, at its own peak, the configuration the second is most efficient in.

A ceiling the outer orbit imposes

The closed form for how far a cycle can drive an eccentricity assumes the inner orbit is a test particle, so the angular momentum it gives up goes nowhere. A real inner binary of comparable mass has to be paid for: the outer orbit absorbs what the inner one loses, tilts, and changes the very inclination the cycle depends on.

A doubling rule, and the planet that broke it. Each planet's real semi-major axis against the value the Titius–Bode rule 0.4 + 0.3 × 2ⁿ gives it, both in astronomical units on logarithmic axes; points on the diagonal are fitted exactly. The rule gives the Earth 1.0 by construction and fits Venus, Mars, Jupiter and Saturn within a few per cent. It needed the value n = 3 left empty until Ceres was found in its slot in 1801, and it predicted Uranus, discovered in 1781, within 2%. Neptune, discovered in 1846 by a calculation that assumed the rule, sits 22% inside its predicted place, and Pluto occupies the place Neptune should have had. Mercury is given n = −∞, which is a free choice made to fit it. The labels give each body's departure from the rule.

A spacing law that random orbits obey

The planets' distances roughly double from one to the next, and a rule written down in 1766 predicted the asteroid belt and Uranus before either was found. It failed on Neptune, and the reason it worked at all turns out to be that almost any set of orbits forbidden to crowd each other looks geometric on a logarithmic scale — as a test against thousands of random systems shows.

A hotter summer that is also a shorter one

When the Earth passes closest to the Sun in northern summer, the northern summer is brighter — and, by Kepler's second law, shorter by exactly the right amount to deliver almost the same energy. Measured by the energy it delivers above a melting threshold rather than by its brightest day, a summer barely feels the precession cycle at all and feels the tilt of the axis several times more strongly.

The weakest bodies are a few hundred metres across. The energy per unit mass needed to shatter a body and disperse half of it, against the body's diameter, for basalt and water ice, from fits to impact simulations calibrated on laboratory fragmentation. Small bodies are held together by material strength, which falls with size because a larger body contains larger flaws; large bodies are held together by their own gravity, which rises with size because the fragments have to be thrown apart as well as broken. The two regimes meet in a minimum at 235 m for basalt and 204 m for water ice, where a body needs the least energy per kilogram to destroy of any size — 127 J/kg and 57 J/kg, the kinetic energy per kilogram of motion at only 16 and 11 metres a second. A collisional population is therefore not self-similar: it has a preferred size, and its size distribution records it.

The size at which a body is easiest to break

A pebble is held together by the strength of its rock and a moon by its own gravity, and somewhere between them is a size that has too little of either. Bodies a few hundred metres across are the weakest in the solar system — sixteen metres a second of impact energy per kilogram is enough to scatter one — and a population grinding itself down records that weakness as a knee in its size distribution.

One surface, two ages, and a kink between them. The cumulative number of craters per square kilometre larger than a given diameter, both on logarithmic axes, for a surface that formed 3.9 billion years ago and was flooded 3.3 billion years ago by a layer 200 m thick. The dashed lines are the isochrons of the two ages under the lunar chronology. Craters with rims taller than the flood — larger than 5.6 km, since a simple crater's rim stands about 0.036 of its diameter high — survived it, so above the kink the count follows the 3.9-billion-year isochron. Everything smaller was buried, and the craters counted there formed after the flood, so below the kink the count follows the 3.3-billion-year isochron. Fitting the branches separately returns 3.90 and 3.30 billion years. The kink is not noise and not a change in the impactors: its diameter is a measurement of how thick the flood was.

A kink that measures how deep the lava was

A surface that was flooded partway through its life carries two crater populations — the old craters too big to bury, and the young ones made since — and its crater count follows one age above a certain diameter and another below it. The diameter of the kink is the thickness of the flood, read through the height of a crater's rim, and a single age fitted across it describes nothing that ever happened.

The spike, and where one passage through the planets sends it. The distribution of the reciprocal semi-major axis 1/a of long-period comets, in units of 10⁻⁴ AU⁻¹ and each curve scaled to its own peak. The narrow shaded peak is the Oort spike: comets arriving from the Oort cloud for the first time, with 1/a of about 4·10⁻⁵ AU⁻¹ and a spread of a few times 10⁻⁵. The broad curve is where those same comets go after one passage through the planetary region, whose perturbations change 1/a by a typical 5·10⁻⁴ AU⁻¹ — ten times the spike's width. 47 per cent end with negative 1/a, on hyperbolic orbits that leave the Solar System; only 4 per cent remain inside the spike's width. A comet in the spike is therefore on its first passage, almost by definition: the planets cannot put a comet back into the spike once it has been through them.

A spike only first-time visitors can be in

Long-period comets arriving from the Oort cloud have orbital energies packed into a spike a few hundred-thousandths of an inverse astronomical unit wide. One passage through the planets changes that energy by ten times as much, so no comet can be in the spike twice — and the spike's position, near thirty thousand astronomical units, is where the Galaxy's own tide is just strong enough to lift a comet's perihelion over Jupiter and Saturn in a single orbit.

The eccentricity the planets force on an asteroid, and where it diverges. The forced eccentricity of a body in the inner Solar System against its semi-major axis, from the linear secular theory with all eight planets — its two giant-planet frequencies set to the measured 4.257 and 28.245 arcseconds a year — on a logarithmic axis: the largest value it reaches over the planetary cycles (solid) and its present value (dashed). Across most of the asteroid belt it is a few hundredths — 0.048 at 2.8 AU — the part of every asteroid's eccentricity that belongs to Jupiter and Saturn rather than to the asteroid. Near 2.04 AU it diverges: there the asteroid's own apsidal precession rate equals the frequency of the planetary mode dominated by Saturn, the denominator A − g₆ vanishes, and the theory's forced eccentricity goes to infinity. That is the ν₆ secular resonance. Real asteroids near it do not reach infinite eccentricity; they reach eccentricities large enough to cross the orbits of Mars and the Earth, and are removed. The location is for a body of low eccentricity and inclination; the full theory curves the resonance to larger distances at higher inclination, which is why the belt's inner edge is not a single number.

A denominator that emptied the inner belt

The eccentricity Jupiter and Saturn force on an asteroid is a fraction, and its denominator is the difference between the asteroid's own precession rate and one of the planets'. At two astronomical units that difference is zero. Where the zero sits depends on where Saturn is — and the belt's quiet orbits say Saturn did not take long to get there.

$Perihelia of a young family, run backwards until they meet. The longitude of perihelion of each of 26 members of a synthetic young asteroid family at the Karin family's position, relative to the family's mean at each moment, against time before the present. Today the angles are spread round the whole circle: members only a few thousandths of an astronomical unit apart precess at rates that differ by a fraction of an arcsecond a year, which over millions of years is many full turns. Run backwards — with each member's own drift in semi-major axis included — they converge, and the spread is smallest at 5.75 million years ago, where they were made. The nodes turn the other way, and in the real family, whose rates come from a full theory in which the two frequencies differ, they give a second, independent convergence at the same instant. An age read this way is a measurement of a time in the way a light curve's period is, with an error of a few per cent, rather than an inference from a drift rate.$

An age read from angles that meet

A family of asteroids a few million years old has had its members' orbits turned round and round by the planets, each at a slightly different rate, until their orientations look random. Turn them back and they come together at one instant — the collision — with an uncertainty of a few tens of thousands of years, but only if each member's own slow drift in sunlight is put back too.

$Debris discs of very different masses, fading to one line. The fractional luminosity of a debris belt at 50 AU — the share of its star's light the dust absorbs and re-radiates — against age, from a million to ten billion years, for belts that start with 1, 10, 100, 1000 Earth masses of planetesimals up to 60 km across. Each stays near its starting brightness until its largest bodies have had time to collide, 16.5 billion years, 1.7 billion years, 165 million years, 17 million years respectively, and then fades as one over the age. A heavier belt starts brighter and grinds itself down faster, and the two effects cancel: after their collisional times all belts lie on the same line, the dashed maximum, whatever their mass. At ten billion years the two heaviest differ by 1 per cent.$

A ceiling that forgets how much there was

A belt of planetesimals around a star shows itself only through its dust, and the dust is ground from the belt's largest bodies by collisions. Give the belt more mass and it makes more dust — but it also collides more often, and grinds itself away faster. At late times the two effects cancel exactly, and every belt at a given distance and age lies on the same line of maximum brightness whatever it started with. A disc above that line cannot be a steady cascade, and it is telling of a recent catastrophe.

An inner orbit's inclination, with and without the octupole. The inclination of an inner orbit to the plane of a distant perturber against time, in units of the quadrupole timescale, starting at 65 degrees with a nearly circular orbit, for octupole strengths ε = 0 and 0.03. At ε = 0 — a circular outer orbit — the inclination oscillates in the regular Kozai–Lidov cycle and never crosses ninety degrees, because the angular momentum along the outer orbit's axis is conserved and cannot change sign. With the outer orbit eccentric, the inclination drifts from cycle to cycle and crosses ninety degrees, the orbit turning from prograde to retrograde, first at t ≈ 120, 2 times in all within the time shown. The integration conserves the secular energy to 7·10⁻⁶.

An orbit that turns over

A distant third body makes an inner orbit trade inclination for eccentricity in slow, regular cycles, and one quantity — the inner orbit's angular momentum along the outer orbit's axis — keeps the trade bounded and forbids the orbit from ever tipping past ninety degrees. That conservation holds only if the outer orbit is a circle. Make it eccentric and the quantity drifts, the cycles stop repeating, and at a moment of extreme eccentricity the inner orbit turns over, from prograde to retrograde, with its pericentre pressed a thousand times closer than the regular cycle allowed.

A cloud of fragments that pinches where it was born. 240 fragments thrown from a satellite on a circular orbit 800 kilometres up, with kicks of about 100 metres a second in random directions in the orbital plane, each then following its own Kepler ellipse, drawn at 0.5, 1, 4.5, 20 orbital periods of the parent, with the Earth's centre marked and the break-up point at the top. Radial offsets from the parent's circle are exaggerated 2.5 times. Half a period after the break-up the fragments are spread 28 degrees along the orbit and 1374 kilometres in altitude, the kicks having carried some to higher apogees and others to lower perigees. After one period the along-track spread has grown to 53 degrees but the whole cloud is only 112 kilometres thick, and the 83 fragments within eight degrees of the break-up point span 35: every fragment's orbit passes through the break-up point, and the cloud pinches there once a period. By 4.5 periods it is 231 degrees long and 863 kilometres thick overall; by 20 it is 352 degrees long, still pinched to 11 kilometres where it began.

Every fragment comes back through the same point

When a satellite breaks up, its pieces fly off in every direction and every one of them returns, an orbit later, to the place where it broke. The cloud pinches there once a period, stretches along the orbit at a rate set by one component of each kick, and becomes a ring in hours.

Lambert's time of flight in the semi-major axis and in Lancaster and Blanchard's variable. The non-dimensional time of flight T = t√(2μ/s³) of the transfer between radii 1 and 1.524 through 135 degrees, against two variables that label the same family of orbits. Left: against the semi-major axis in units of the minimum-energy ellipse's. The family is two curves — the fast branch, which passes the empty focus on one side, and the slow branch, on the other — joined at a = aₘ with T = 1.566, where both have a vertical tangent: the time changes infinitely fast with the semi-major axis there, and every a above aₘ corresponds to two times. Right: against x, the variable of Lancaster and Blanchard, in which a = aₘ/(1 − x²). The same family is one smooth, decreasing curve through T = 1.566 at x = 0 to the parabolic time 0.662 at x = 1, with no tangent vertical and every time given by exactly one x. Nothing about the orbits differs between the panels; only the label on them does.

The variable that makes Lambert's problem easy

Written in the semi-major axis, the time-of-flight equation has two branches joined by a vertical tangent, and a solver near the join struggles. Written in a variable Lancaster and Blanchard chose in 1969, it is one smooth curve — and every trajectory library now solves it that way.

$One history of mass loss, three orbits, three outcomes. The eccentricity of three planets' orbits against the fraction of the star's mass lost so far, as the star sheds 45 per cent of its mass in 6 equal pulses at irregular intervals. Each planet starts with e = 0.05. The pulses are the same events in the star's own time, and the planets differ only in their periods, so each pulse lasts 3, 0.3, 0.03 orbital periods respectively. For the innermost planet, to which every pulse is slow, the eccentricity ends at 0.050: the orbit swells and keeps its shape. For the outermost, to which every pulse is sudden, each pulse kicks the eccentricity by an amount set by where the planet happened to be, and it ends at 0.298. The middle planet ends at 0.090. The same total loss leaves three different shapes, and only one of them is predicted by either limit alone.$

The size forgets how the mass was lost, and the shape does not

A dying star loses half its mass, and a planet round it keeps its orbit's shape if the loss is slow and has it scrambled if the loss is sudden. Real stars lose mass in pulses — each one sudden or slow depending on the planet — and what survives a train of pulses is neither answer: the orbit's size settles to the slow value quickly, while its eccentricity random-walks and keeps a record of the history.

$How much of a population is driven how close. The fraction of an isotropic population of inner orbits whose Kozai–Lidov cycling brings 1 − e below a given value within 150 secular timescales, against that value, both logarithmic, for octupole strengths ε = 0, 0.01, 0.03; each curve is 128 integrated orbits with random pericentres and nodes. The thin line is the quadrupole closed form, √((3/5)(1 − (1 − q)²)), which the ε = 0 population follows. At 1 − e = 0.01 the fractions are 9.4, 20.3, 40.6 per cent; at 0.001, 3.1, 18.0, 38.3. The octupole matters most where the quadrupole is weakest — at the extreme closeness a planet needs to be captured by tides, or a pair of compact objects needs to merge — because it adds orbits whose quadrupole cycle stopped far short of it.$

Eleven in a hundred by geometry, and the rest by waiting

A distant companion drives an inner orbit through cycles of eccentricity, and whether a given system reaches a dangerously close approach depends on its inclination. Counted over a population with random orientations, the answer at quadrupole order is pure geometry — about eleven per cent reach one per cent of their semi-major axis, all at the same inclination. An eccentric outer orbit multiplies that share, spreads the inclinations, and makes the count depend on how long the systems have been waiting.

The same tilt, and ice ages of two different lengths. Top: the obliquity anomaly in degrees from the five largest terms of the standard series, over 2 million years of model time; it is dominated by the 41,000-year cycle and has no power at all near 100,000 years. Bottom: ice volume in a threshold model driven by it — the ice grows steadily, and it collapses whenever volume plus a multiple of the obliquity anomaly crosses a threshold, marked by dots. For the first 1 million years the threshold is low and the ice collapses at nearly every obliquity maximum, on average every 43 thousand years. At the vertical line the threshold is raised, and nothing else changes: the ice now survives one or two obliquity maxima and collapses at the second or third, every 108 thousand years on average. The forcing is identical on both sides; the ice sheet counts it differently.

An ice sheet that skips a beat of the tilt

The last eight hundred thousand years of ice ages come roughly every hundred thousand years, and the Earth's orbit has no forcing of any strength at that period. A model in which an ice sheet collapses only when it is both large and warmed by a high-obliquity summer reproduces the rhythm with nothing but the forty-one-thousand-year tilt — the ice sheet grows through one or two maxima and falls on the next — and a slow rise in how large the ice must grow turns the older forty-one-thousand-year world into the newer one without any change in the orbit.

$A fall into the Sun from a standing start. The distance of a body released at rest 1 AU from the Sun, as a fraction of its starting distance, against time as a fraction of the fall's total duration, 64.6 days: the exact radial orbit (solid) and a fall at the constant acceleration felt at the start (dashed). The exact fall begins exactly like the constant one and finishes far faster, because the pull grows as the inverse square of the shrinking distance: it reaches the Sun at 79 per cent of the time the constant pull would take. The curve is a cycloid, and the total time is a fifth of the circular orbital period at the starting distance — exactly 1/(4√2) of it — because a straight fall is half of an ellipse whose semi-major axis is half the starting distance.$

A fall is half an orbit with no width

Stop a planet dead and it falls into the Sun, in a time that is not a quarter of its year or a half but exactly one over four times the square root of two. The fall is an ellipse squeezed to a line, it spends four-fifths of its duration in the outer half of its path, and in a uniform cloud every shell of it arrives at the centre at the same moment — which is where the free-fall time of star formation comes from.

One detection, and every density it could mean. The number density of interstellar objects implied by one detection of a given size in 8 years, against the distance from the Sun inside which a survey could have seen it, for objects arriving at 26.3 km/s, if the survey caught 100 per cent, 10 per cent, 1 per cent of those passing inside that distance. Each estimate is the count divided by the rate of passages per unit density, πq²v∞ with gravitational focusing, times the efficiency. If ʻOumuamua-sized bodies could be seen inside 0.5 AU at 10 per cent efficiency, there are about 0.05 per cubic AU; if inside 2 AU with every one caught, 7.9 × 10^−4. The inferred density is a statement about the survey as much as about the visitors.

A census of visitors is a census of the survey

Three bodies from other stars have passed through the inner solar system in eight years of looking. Turning that count into a number of such bodies per cubic astronomical unit needs the volume in which they could have been seen, and that volume is set by the Sun's gravity, by each body's size and by how many weeks a survey had to catch it — so the first number the census gives is a measurement of the survey.

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.

$Four numbers that carry a position and a velocity round an orbit. The Lagrange coefficients f, g, ḟ and ġ — g and ḟ scaled by the mean motion so that all four are pure numbers — against time as a fraction of the period, for an ellipse of eccentricity 0.6 and periapsis 0.5 AU, each computed from one universal-variable solve starting at periapsis. The new position is f times the old position plus g times the old velocity, and the new velocity ḟ times the old position plus ġ times the old velocity: the state at any time is a linear combination of the state at the start, with no semi-major axis, eccentricity or anomaly formed. f and ġ return to one and g and ḟ to zero after a full period, which is the orbit closing. At every one of the 401 instants the combination f ġ − ḟ g equals one to 6·10⁻¹⁵, which is the conservation of angular momentum written as the area of a parallelogram.$

Four numbers that carry a state without an orbit

Once the universal variable is solved, a body's position and velocity at any later time are a linear combination of its position and velocity now, with four coefficients and no orbital elements formed at all. The four obey one identity exactly — the conservation of angular momentum, written as an area — and its failure measures the error a calculation has made without knowing the answer.

A distant planet felt only as a stretch

An undiscovered planet far beyond Neptune pulls the Sun and Saturn almost equally, and an ephemeris, which measures only where Saturn is relative to the Sun, cannot see a pull that moves both together. What it can see is the difference — a tidal stretch falling as the mass over the cube of the distance — and most even of that is absorbed by refitting Saturn's orbit. What is left decides which planets the solar system can be hiding.

$The Moon pushed towards the Sun, once a month. The change in the Earth–Moon distance, in millimetres, if the Earth's gravitational self-energy fell towards the Sun differently from the rest of its mass by a fraction η = 0.001 — the term that would be present at the synodic period, the cycle of lunar phases, in an integration of the Moon's orbit in the Sun's full field. The amplitude is 11.4 mm, which is 11.4 metres times η: the Moon's orbit would be stretched towards the Sun at new moon and squeezed at full, or the reverse, depending on the sign. The shaded band is ±2 mm, roughly the precision of a modern lunar laser ranging normal point. A violation a thousandth of the size of the effect it tests would be twice that precision.$

A Moon that would lean towards the Sun

Part of the Earth's mass is its own gravitational binding energy — a few parts in ten billion. If that part fell towards the Sun even slightly differently from the rest, the Earth and the Moon would fall at different rates and the Moon's orbit would be pushed sunward once a month by about eleven metres for every unit of the difference. Fifty years of laser ranging to the Moon have looked for that push at the millimetre level, against a term the Sun's ordinary gravity puts at the same frequency a hundred kilometres high.

The kick speeds read back out of the periods: median 100 m/s against the 100 m/s put in. The distribution of kick speeds recovered from the fragments' periods alone, by p(v) = −2v g′(v) applied to the along-track kicks, for 300 and 3000 fragments (points), against the log-normal distribution actually used, median 100 m/s and width 0.3 dex (line), on a logarithmic speed axis with the density per logarithmic interval. With 3000 fragments the recovery follows the shape of the truth and puts the median at 100 m/s, though differentiating a measured distribution twice smooths its peak and roughens its tails; with 300 it is noisy but already in the right place. The inversion uses one assumption, that the kicks were isotropic, and one measurement per fragment, its period — the quantity tracking networks determine first and best.

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.

Two clouds with the same kicks: the explosion's centre at −2.3 m/s, the collision's at 10.9. The along-track kicks read from the periods of 1500 fragments, for an explosion (blue) and for a collision (orange) whose fragments received the same random kicks plus a shared velocity change of 12 m/s along the track — the centre-of-mass motion a projectile's momentum leaves behind. The two histograms have the same width and shape; the collision's is displaced. The number-weighted mean of the explosion's kicks is −2.3 ± 2.6 m/s, consistent with zero, and the collision's 10.9 ± 2.5 m/s. The width of a cloud says how violent the event was; its centre says whether anything arrived from outside.

A collision moves the cloud's centre, and an explosion cannot

However violently a satellite blows itself apart, its fragments' momenta add up to the parent's: the centre of the cloud keeps moving exactly as the satellite did. A collision is different, because the projectile brings momentum in, and a collision energetic enough to shatter its target needs a projectile heavy enough to move the centre by at least 80,000 joules per kilogram divided by the impact speed — eight metres a second in low orbit. The width of a debris cloud measures how violent the event was. Its centre measures whether anything arrived from outside.

Jupiter keeps only the visitors already nearly bound

An interstellar object passing Jupiter can lose enough speed to stay, but one flyby can only turn the visitor's velocity relative to the planet, never shorten it, and the turn removes at most a few kilometres a second from its speed around the Sun. So capture is common for visitors that arrive with less than a kilometre a second to spare and almost impossible for the speeds the three known visitors had. A census of the slow tail of the interstellar population, and the orbits a capture leaves — more than a third of them backwards — follow from the same arithmetic.

Spun apart, or run out of ice: two clocks against size. Numbers of orbits against nucleus radius, both axes logarithmic, for a comet on 41P's orbit losing mass at 41P's rate per unit area. Solid: the orbits until the nucleus has lost all its mass to sublimation, growing in proportion to the radius. Dashed: the orbits until outgassing torques, changing sense at random from one orbit to the next, spin it past the rate at which a strengthless body of density 500 kg/m³ comes apart (a period of 4.7 hours) — growing as the fourth power of the radius, because each orbit's change of spin goes as the inverse square and a random walk needs the square of the number of steps. With a torque efficiency of 0.01, about what other comets' measured spin changes suggest, the two clocks cross at a radius of 1.2 km; with 41P's own 0.044, at 3.3 km. Smaller nuclei are spun apart before they run out of ice; larger ones run out first. The crossing moves as the two-thirds power of the efficiency.

The jet that pushes a comet also turns it

The gas a comet sheds near the Sun pushes its orbit, and because the vents are not arranged symmetrically about its spin axis, it also twists the nucleus. In 2017 one small comet's day more than doubled in two months. The twist per orbit grows as the inverse square of the nucleus's radius while its supply of ice grows only as the radius, so below about a kilometre a comet is spun apart before it runs out of ice — and the shortage of small comet nuclei may be the result.

A kick that writes over the record of the pulses

A star that becomes a white dwarf loses half its mass in pulses, and a companion far enough away feels each pulse as a sudden jolt to its orbit's shape. The wide binaries of white dwarfs should therefore carry the pulses' record in their eccentricities. They would, except that the white dwarf itself is born moving at a few tenths of a kilometre a second, and a kick that small writes more eccentricity than all the pulses together.

The age a handful of craters allows. The probability of each age for a 100 square-kilometre surface on Mars, given a count of 0, 3, 10, 30, 100 craters 50 metres across or larger, per unit of the logarithm of age, with a uniform prior on age. No craters: younger than 45 Myr at 95 per cent, and nothing more; 3: 55 Myr, from 31 Myr to 88 Myr; 10: 158 Myr, from 116 Myr to 212 Myr; 30: 457 Myr, from 382 Myr to 547 Myr; 100: 1,502 Myr, from 1,359 Myr to 1,660 Myr. Each tenfold increase in the count narrows the range by about the square root of ten, from a factor of 2.8 with three craters to 1.22 with a hundred. The counting error is only part of the story: the chronology converting a crater density into an age is uncertain by a factor of about 1.6 on Mars before any crater is counted.

A young surface dated by a handful of holes

The surfaces that decide whether a planet is still geologically alive — the freshest lava on Mars, the smoothest ice on Europa — are the ones with fewest craters to count. Their ages are Poisson estimates from a few dozen holes, they cannot be younger than the area and crater size allow, and a fraction of a per cent of older ground in the counting area can double them. What survives best is not when a surface formed but which of two surfaces formed first.

Which pairs of planets the angular momentum deficit can bring together. For each adjacent pair of planets, the system's angular momentum deficit divided by the critical deficit at which that pair's orbits could touch, on a logarithmic scale; below one the pair cannot collide under secular evolution, whatever happens. Blue: using only the deficit of the pair's own subsystem — the four terrestrial planets (7.8 × 10⁻⁹ in units of a solar mass times √AU) or the four giants (4.3 × 10⁻⁶). Orange: using the whole Solar System's deficit, which the giants hold almost entirely. On their own budget the inner pairs sit at 0.21, 0.12, 0.34 — safe. On the whole budget they sit at 112, 65, 187. The giants are safe either way, at 0.05, 0.18, 0.36. The terrestrial planets are stable because almost none of the giants' deficit reaches them, not because there is too little of it.

A deficit the giants hold and Mercury could borrow

The angular momentum the planets' orbits lack of circular motion is conserved by every secular interaction, to every order, so it is a budget no planet can overdraw. Compared with what it would take to bring a pair of orbits into contact, it proves without an integration that the terrestrial planets cannot collide among themselves — and shows that they are safe only because the giants, who hold five hundred times as much, lend them almost none. A loan of half a per cent of Jupiter's would be enough to unsettle Mercury.

Where a spinning sphere of rubble is steepest. The slope of the surface of a spinning sphere of loose material against latitude — the angle between the local vertical and the combined pull of gravity and rotation — for spins of 30%, 60%, 80%, 90%, 97% of the critical rate, measured in its square, at which the equator would lift off: for a density of 1.19 g cm⁻³ the critical period is 3.03 hours and these are periods of 5.5, 3.9, 3.4, 3.2, 3.1 hours. The slope is zero at the pole and at the equator, where the pull and the vertical are aligned by symmetry, and steepest in between: at 30% it peaks at 10° at latitude 40°, at 97% at 70° at 10°. The band marks the angle of repose of loose rock, 30° to 40°. From 80% of the critical rate the steepest band is past it: the surface begins to slide well before the equator has lost its weight.

A surface that slides before the body sheds

A rubble pile spun towards its limit does not wait for its equator to lose its weight. Long before that, its mid-latitudes grow steeper than loose rock can stand, and the surface flows — downhill, which on a spinning body means towards the equator. The ridge that so many small asteroids wear is built in that interval, at spins a sixth slower than the one that would fling material off, and whether it is built at all depends on a cohesion of less than a pascal.

An orbit seen at an angle keeps everything but its focus

No orbit outside the solar system is seen face on. It is seen as a shadow on the sky, and the shadow of an ellipse is an ellipse, swept at equal areas in equal times, indistinguishable in shape and timing from a real orbit. Only one thing gives the tilt away. The star the companion circles projects to where the true focus projects, and that is not where the apparent ellipse has its focus.

A two-body arc flown in the real field. How far from its target a spacecraft arrives when it flies the velocity Lambert's two-body problem gives, through the Earth's real field with its equatorial bulge, against the angle of the transfer, from a 400 km orbit to a point on a 420 km orbit, on a logarithmic scale. In a pure two-body field every solution arrives within a metre of the target; exactly 180° is left out, where the two points and the Earth's centre are in line and the transfer's plane is not determined. In the real field the miss grows with the transfer: at 51.6° inclination, 4.2 km after 60° and 43.0 km after 300°. An equatorial orbit misses most, because the bulge's extra pull is strongest over the equator and acts on it all the way round; an inclined orbit feels it only part of the time but also has its plane turned.

An answer from two bodies, flown through a flattened Earth

Lambert's problem gives the exact velocity that carries a spacecraft between two points in a given time — exactly, for a spherical Earth. The real Earth bulges at the equator, by a thousandth of its central pull, and a spacecraft flying the exact two-body answer between two points in low orbit arrives tens of kilometres from where it was sent. The repair is to keep the two-body solver and lie to it about the target, and the lie converges by a factor of a hundred each time it is told.

An iteration that slows toward the straight-through transfer. The contraction ratio of the corrected-target iteration — how much each pass shrinks the miss — against the transfer angle, for a transfer between orbits of 51.6° inclination at 400 and 420 km, with the Earth's bulge at its real strength and at 10 and 30 times it, on a logarithmic scale. The iteration converges where the ratio is below 1 (dashed). At the real strength it shrinks the miss 1857-fold per pass at 150°, 83-fold at 178° and 8-fold at 181°: always convergent, ever slower. At 10 times the strength it fails between 181° and 184°; at 30 times it fails between 182.5° and 192°. The slowing is geometric: near 180° the transfer's plane is set by a sideways shift of the aim point, so correcting the bulge's sideways miss tilts the whole arc.

A correction that tilts the arc it meant to aim

A transfer designed with Lambert's two-body solution and flown through the Earth's flattened field misses its target, and the standard repair is to aim at the target minus the miss and solve again. That converges fast — until the transfer angle approaches 180°. There the two end points and the Earth's centre are nearly in line, the arc's plane is decided by a sideways shift of the aim, and correcting the bulge's sideways miss rotates the whole arc. The iteration slows by a factor of a hundred, and with a larger perturbation it runs away. Correcting only within the plane fixes it, at the cost of a plane change paid at arrival.

Errors the identity sees and errors it cannot. Propagations of an ellipse of eccentricity 0.6 through 0.37 of a period, spoiled four ways at sizes from 10⁻¹³ to a hundredth, plotted by their true relative position error across and by how far their coefficients miss f ġ − ḟ g = 1 up (both logarithmic; the bottom row is a miss below the arithmetic's resolution). A solve stopped early and coefficients jostled at random break the identity in proportion to the damage. A wrong time step and a wrong gravitational parameter do not break it at all, at any size — errors up to 0.009 of the position sit on the floor — because each produces an exact Kepler map, for a different question. One equation on four numbers leaves three directions unchecked, and two of them are the two inputs every propagation depends on.

A check that cannot see the clock

The four Lagrange coefficients that carry an orbit's state forward satisfy one identity exactly, and a propagation that breaks it is wrong by about as much as it breaks it. But one equation on four numbers leaves three directions unchecked, and two of them are the inputs every propagation depends on: the time and the strength of gravity. A state carried forward for the wrong time, or under the wrong gravitational parameter, satisfies the identity perfectly — and a solver can be written so that its own errors take exactly that form.

A wall that leans towards the body that damps

A hot Jupiter's eccentric orbit is rounded off by two tides at once, one dissipated in the planet and one in its star, and they depend on the planet's mass in opposite ways. So the period inside which planets are circular should fall with planet mass if the planet does the work and rise if the star does — and the heavy hot Jupiters that keep eccentric orbits where light ones never do say which.

$What colour removes, and what it can only estimate. The share of a synthetic family's linked membership that is not part of the family, against the clustering cutoff, with the parts a colour test can and cannot see. The true interloper fraction rises with the cutoff, from 0 per cent at 20 m/s to 84 per cent at 110. A colour cut removes the interlopers of the other type — 12 per cent of the list at 60 m/s — and leaves those of the family's own type, 6 per cent, which can only be estimated by scaling the detected ones by the background's mix. That estimate (dashed) tracks the truth on average and scatters about it, because a few dozen interlopers are a few dozen random draws.$

A family checked by a colour it was not chosen by

Asteroid families are found by clustering orbits, and the clustering absorbs background asteroids that happen to orbit nearby. Fragments of one body share its composition, and the survey that found them measured their colours for free — so colour is a second membership test the clustering never used. It removes the interlopers that look different, and it can only estimate the ones that look the same.

$A tilt that wanders up, one passing body at a time. The inclination of the Moon's orbit to the plane it started in, against the number of lunar-mass bodies that have passed the Earth–Moon pair at 5 km/s within 300 Earth radii, with the Moon at 30 Earth radii, for four different sequences of passages. Each passage tilts the orbit by a fraction of a degree in a random direction, so the inclination performs a random walk and grows as the square root of the number of passages: after 1,000 the four runs stand at 3.8, 1.8, 3.9, 0.2 degrees. The dashed line is the Moon's present inclination, 5.145 degrees. Whether a given history reaches it is a matter of chance; how far a typical one gets is set by the passages' number, mass and speed.$

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 clock checked by the craters it is making now

Every young age on Mars is a crater count divided by a rate borrowed from the Moon. Since 2006 the orbiting cameras have been watching that rate happen: hundreds of fresh craters, metres across, that were not there in the previous image. They form several times less often than the borrowed rate predicts at the smallest sizes, and more often than it at a few tens of metres — and the youngest surfaces on Mars are dated from exactly the sizes where the two disagree most.

Captures counted over the Sun's life, cluster and field together. The cumulative number of ʻOumuamua-sized bodies Jupiter has captured since the Sun formed, against time, for birth clusters of 300, 1000, 3000 stars per cubic parsec whose bodies were captured at 4.3 a year per unit density for 3·10⁷ years, followed by today's visitors at 7.2 × 10⁻⁴ a year (dotted). The cluster's 3·10⁷ years supply 99.5%, 99.9%, 100.0% of all the captures the Sun has made: 7.2·10⁸, 2.4·10⁹, 7.2·10⁹ bodies, against 3.3·10⁶ from four and a half billion years of fast strangers. Almost everything Jupiter has ever captured, it captured from its siblings.

What Jupiter kept of the Sun's siblings

The Sun was born among a few thousand other stars, and while their planets formed they flung out small bodies at a few kilometres a second — exactly the speeds at which Jupiter can capture a passing body. Counted honestly, the birth cluster supplied almost every capture Jupiter has ever made: billions of bodies in thirty million years, against a few million in the four and a half billion since. And billions is still a hundred-thousandth of the Sun's own comets. Whatever the siblings gave the Sun, Jupiter was not how it arrived.

$One impact, three ways to fade. The fractional luminosity of the dust from a giant impact at 1 AU against time since the impact, for 0.01 Earth masses of debris whose largest pieces are centimetre spherules condensed from the vapour, kilometre fragments, or hundred-kilometre fragments, each grinding down as a collisional cascade. The condensate is bright at once and gone within 286 years; the fragments keep the dust above the dashed detection threshold of 0.0001 for 8 thousand years and 9.3 million years. One impact carries two clocks: a flash measured in years and a glow measured in millennia.$

Two clocks in the dust of one collision

A collision between two young planets fills the inner system with dust that shines in the infrared far above anything a steady belt could sustain. The dust carries two clocks. The spherules that condense from the vapour grind themselves away within a few centuries, so a fresh impact flashes and fades on a timescale an astronomer can watch. The fragments last thousands to millions of years, and how long depends on the size of the largest pieces — not on how much was thrown out. The share of young stars that glow counts impacts times fragment size; only the flashes count impacts.

A moonlet's period measures its primary's density. The orbital period of a small satellite against the radius of its orbit in units of the primary's radius, both logarithmic, for primaries of bulk density 1, 2, 3.5 g/cm³. The size of the asteroid cancels: a moonlet at five radii from a body of 2 g/cm³ takes 26 hours whether the body is a kilometre or a hundred across. At one radius the curves give the spin period at which a strengthless rubble pile flies apart — 3.3, 2.3 and 1.8 hours. Didymos–Dimorphos, at 3.1 radii and 11.92 hours, gives 2.4 g/cm³; 1999 KW4, at 3.9 radii and 17.42 hours, gives 2.1 g/cm³.

A moonlet that weighs a pile of rubble

Put Kepler's third law round an asteroid and its size cancels: a moonlet's period depends only on how many of the asteroid's radii away it orbits and on the asteroid's density. So the first asteroid moon ever seen, a mile-wide speck beside Ida, turned a picture into a density — and the density came out too low for solid rock. A fifth to a half of the asteroids weighed this way is empty space.

How fast a meteor arrives is its orbit's inclination. The speed at which a meteoroid on a near-parabolic orbit with perihelion at 1 AU meets the Earth, against the orbit's inclination to the ecliptic: relative to the Earth far away (dashed) and at the top of the atmosphere after the Earth's gravity has added its pull (solid). A prograde orbit in the ecliptic overtakes the Earth at 12 km/s and enters at 17; a retrograde one meets it head-on at 72 and enters at 73. The points are four showers computed from their parents' elements at the node nearest 1 AU: Draconids 24 km/s at 31.9°, Geminids 38 km/s at 22.3°, Perseids 61 km/s at 113.5°, Leonids 72 km/s at 162.5°. A meteor's speed is a reading of the angle between its orbit and the Earth's.

A shower that is a reading of an orbit

Every August the Earth runs through the dust of comet Swift–Tuttle, and the meteors arrive at sixty kilometres a second from a point in Perseus. Each of those facts is an orbital element in disguise. The date is the longitude of the stream's node, the speed is its inclination, the radiant is the direction it comes from, and the shower exists at all only because one element happens to put a node within a hair of the Earth's orbit.

Jupiter and Saturn trading a degree of longitude over nine centuries. Mean longitudes of Jupiter and Saturn in arcminutes, with their straight trends taken out and a 40-year smoothing applied, from a planar integration of the Sun, Jupiter and Saturn from their elements at the year 2000. Jupiter swings ±20′ and Saturn ±50′, in opposite senses, with a period of about 870 years. Comparing Ptolemy's positions with those of his own day, Kepler could not fit one mean motion to both, and by 1676 Halley reported Jupiter gaining and Saturn losing. Before 1785 that looked as if the Solar System were unstable; the curve shows that it is a very long period.

A term too small to keep that a denominator kept

Every planetary theory is an expansion, and the order of its terms is meant to say which can be dropped. In the 1770s the largest unexplained motion in the Solar System, Jupiter speeding up and Saturn slowing down by a degree over centuries, came from a term that the ordering called negligible. Five of Saturn's orbits nearly match two of Jupiter's, and that one near-match divides a tiny third-order coefficient twice by a tiny frequency. An integration of the three bodies shows the swap directly, and shows what Laplace saw: it reverses every nine centuries.

The first-order perigee rate is right for a slower Sun, and half wrong for ours. The rate at which an orbit's perigee turns, in turns per orbit, against the ratio m of the Sun's motion to the orbit's, from separate integrations of a satellite with the Moon's eccentricity under a solar tide on a circular path. The first-order rate (3/4)m² gives 0.0042 at the Moon's m of 0.0748, a perigee period of 18 years. The integrations give 0.0085, 8.9 years; the Moon's perigee takes 8.85. At m = 0.01 the integration gives 8.3e-5 against a first-order 7.5e-5. So the disagreement is not a matter of neglected forces: it depends on how large m is.

A perigee that moved twice as fast as Newton

The Sun's tide on the Moon should turn the line of its perigee once in eighteen years. It takes less than nine. For sixty years that was the outstanding failure of the law of gravitation, and in 1747 Clairaut told the Paris Academy that the inverse-square law would have to be amended. Two years later he withdrew the remark. The law was right and the calculation was unfinished: the series for the perigee has a small parameter that is not small, and its second term is seventy per cent of its first.

The ladders in this field

24 anchors · one idea each

The ellipse Angular momentum Conic sections Harmonic law Orbital elements Vis-viva Effective potential Perturbations Hyperbolic orbits Orbit determination Universal variables Orbital averages Lambert's problem Kozai–Lidov Secular theory Ephemerides Non-gravitational forces Asteroid families Surface chronology Collisional cascade Tisserand parameter Rubble piles Circularisation Planetary rings

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