Gravity assist — the series
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Stealing speed from a planet, which does not notice
A flyby cannot change a spacecraft's speed relative to the planet. It changes its direction — and adding the planet's own motion back turns that into free velocity.
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The same planet, three times
A flyby cannot change the encounter speed, only its direction, so a tour has to be designed in the space of what is conserved. One pass moves a spacecraft along a single curve and no further than the planet can bend it — and reaching a distant target means walking that curve, returning to the same planet again and again.
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The planet pays, and it shows
A gravity assist takes energy from a planet and gives it to a spacecraft, and the planet's loss is exactly the spacecraft's gain. For a two-tonne probe past Jupiter that loss is unmeasurable. Do it with a hundred Earth masses of icy debris and the same bookkeeping moves Neptune outward by several astronomical units.
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Braking on a moon before braking with the engine
A gravity assist is usually told as a way to gain speed, but the same exchange runs the other way. A spacecraft falling toward Jupiter can pass behind one of its moons on the way in, lose a few hundred metres per second of its speed to the moon's orbit, and arrive at its capture burn needing a fifth less propellant. Which moon brakes best depends on three things at once — its mass, how fast it is met and how fast it moves — and the best one sits in radiation no spacecraft wants to fly through.
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A flyby that multiplies its own aiming error
A close flyby of a moon turns a spacecraft's path by ten degrees for nothing, and it turns every error in the aim with it. A kilometre of miss at three hundred kilometres above Ganymede becomes a third of a metre per second of velocity error, and a week later two hundred kilometres of miss at the next moon. A tour of flybys is an amplifier that must be re-zeroed after every pass, and whether a small spacecraft can use one in place of an engine burn depends on how many kilometres it can aim to.
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An aim bought with the last day of the approach
A spacecraft that photographs the moon it is approaching can aim its flyby far more precisely than the ground can tell it to, because it sees the target from closer every hour. But each hour closer leaves less time for a correction to act, so every kilometre of aim is bought with propellant — and below a few kilometres the camera stops helping at all, because a moon that fills the view can be located only as well as its limb can be fitted. For a small craft with a metre a second to spend, the aim comes out at four kilometres, set by geometry and not by the antenna.