The hohmann generator
Two circular orbits and the ellipse that touches both. The first burn raises the far point to the outer orbit; the second, half an orbit later, circularises. The costs are computed from the vis-viva relation.
16 essays call
hohmann. The drawing above is what it returns with no arguments at all; every
call below passes it something, because a placement that passes nothing draws whichever member
of the family the generator happens to default to rather than the one its essay argues about.
Where it is called
Every figure listed here is the same construction drawn at different numbers, so a correction to one is a correction to all of them.
The cheapest way between two orbits, and why it is so slow
Two burns and a long coast is the least fuel that will move a spacecraft between two circular orbits. It is also, for anything beyond the Moon, an unreasonably long wait.
The exponential that decides what can be flown
A rocket carries its own reaction mass, so every kilogram of propellant has to be accelerated by the propellant beneath it. The result is exponential, and it is the reason spaceflight is hard.
Catching up by slowing down, which cost Gemini 4 its fuel
To reach something ahead in the same orbit, a spacecraft must fire backwards. Pointing at the target and thrusting makes the gap grow, and a crew found that out in orbit before anyone had flown the correct manoeuvre.
The transfer that costs more the gentler it is
A continuous spiral from low orbit to geostationary needs a fifth more velocity change than the two-burn transfer, because the thrust is never at the one place it is worth most. It is flown anyway, and by a wide margin — because the exponential in the rocket equation changed sides.
An orbit that speeds up as it is slowed down
Drag takes energy out of a satellite and the satellite goes faster. There is no paradox in it, only a sign — and the same sign makes a re-entry date a space-weather forecast rather than an orbital computation, which is why Skylab was predicted for 1983 and came down in 1979.
The split that is not an equal split
Two stages sharing a velocity budget do not share it evenly, and the calculus that divides it hands more of the work to whichever stage has the better exhaust speed. The optimum is interior, it is worth about a fifth of the payload, and at this mission it is flat enough that nobody designs to it.
A rotation split between two burns
The standard answer is to do the whole plane change at apogee, where the vehicle is slowest. It is not the cheapest answer, and the reason is that a small part of the turn bought at perigee is a second-order correction to a burn that is happening anyway.
One square root that raises the orbit and turns it
Edelbaum put the plane change inside the same radical as the raise, and the half-pi in its cosine is the whole result — a continuous turn costs π/2 times an impulsive one below 140° and less above it.
The engine is chosen by the calendar
A chemical stage's exhaust speed is fixed by chemistry. An electric one's is a dial, and turning it up costs power — so there is a best setting, and it is decided by how long the mission has rather than by how far it is going.
A drive with no rocket equation
Radiation pressure and solar gravity both fall as the inverse square, so their ratio is a constant of the vehicle. A sun-facing sail therefore only rescales the central mass — it has to be tilted to do anything, and the best tilt throws away sixty-two per cent of the thrust.
The first weeks off a Hohmann transfer are nearly free
The Hohmann transfer to Mars takes 259 days and is the cheapest route there is. Because it is a minimum, the cost of going faster starts flat — ten days saved costs twenty metres a second — and only climbs steeply once weeks have become months. For a crew, the time is itself a cost, paid in radiation at about two millisieverts a day.
The thrust that rounds an orbit turns once a revolution
An electric engine pushes gently for months, and the obvious way to point it — along the velocity — raises an orbit as fast as possible and leaves its shape almost untouched. Starting from an elongated transfer orbit, that is the wrong job. Rounding the orbit off needs the thrust forward at apogee, backward at perigee and sideways in between, a full turn of the thrust vector every revolution, and the law that does it can be written down from the equations for how each element changes.
A burn that cannot happen at one point
Every transfer cost in orbital mechanics is computed as though the engine fired for an instant. A real departure burn runs for minutes or hours, and the vehicle travels a long arc while it does — climbing, slowing, and delivering thrust ever further from the point where it would have done the most good. The extra velocity that costs is the gravity loss, and it grows as the square of the arc: negligible for a strong stage, ruinous for a weak one, and recoverable by splitting the burn at the price of time.
No single way to point a long burn
A departure burn that lasts tens of minutes wastes propellant because it cannot all happen at the lowest, fastest point of the orbit, and how much it wastes depends on where the engine points while it runs. Three simple rules — follow the velocity, hold one direction in space, turn at a steady rate — are each best somewhere and none everywhere. A steady turn saves up to a tenth for burns of minutes; following the velocity wins for burns that last most of an orbit; holding still costs twice as much as either.
An orbit lost to a burn that did not fire
A weak stage leaving the Earth splits its departure into several burns at perigee, coasting round a staircase of ever larger ellipses between them. If one burn does not fire, the stage goes round once more. That costs a revolution of time — an hour and a half early in the staircase, more than a day at the top — and a revolution of turning by the Earth's bulge, which comes out at nearly the same angle for every step. The angle is cheap to undo at the slow apogee of a large orbit. The time is not, when the target is the Moon.
A tow with no rope
A spacecraft parked beside an asteroid pulls it by gravity alone, with a force set by the spacecraft's mass and its distance and nothing else. Twenty tonnes hovering a hundred and fifty metres from the centre of a two-hundred-metre asteroid moves it by two millimetres a second in a year. That is the gentlest engine there is, and its limit is not the pull but the exhaust: the spacecraft must thrust away from the rock to stay put without blasting it, and the angle that takes decides how close it can hover.