Theme

Small perturbations, large consequences

The corrections that were supposed to be negligible: Neptune found in the residuals, Mercury's extra arcseconds, and orbits that are stable only for a while.

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.

Orbits

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.

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

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.

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.

Orbits

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.

Orbits

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.

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.

Orbits

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.

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.

Orbits

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.

Orbits

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.

Orbits

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.

Orbits

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.

Orbits

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.

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.

Orbits

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.

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

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.

Orbits

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.

Orbits

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.

Orbits

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.

The tidal field is a difference. The pull of a distant body at each point of a sphere, minus its pull at the sphere's centre. What remains stretches along the line to the source and squeezes across it — two bulges, not one.

Gravitation

The tide is a difference, which is why there are two of them

The Moon pulls the ocean toward it. That explains one bulge. The second one, on the far side, is the whole of the physics — and it comes from subtracting.

$The five Lagrange points at mass fraction 0.12. The five points at which a small body can keep station with two larger ones. The three on the line of centres are roots of a quintic and are unstable; the two forming equilateral triangles are stable for a sufficiently lopsided mass ratio.$ Gravitation

Five places that keep station, in a problem with no solution

Three bodies under gravity cannot be solved. Restrict the problem slightly and five exact answers fall out anyway — three of them roots of a quintic, two of them perfect equilateral triangles.

The tide across a moon, against the moon's own gravity. The tidal acceleration across a satellite and the satellite's own surface gravity, both in units of that surface gravity, against distance from the primary in planet radii. The tide falls as the inverse cube and the self-gravity does not fall at all, so they cross once — at 2.23 radii for the density ratio drawn. Inside the crossing the tide wins and a body held together only by its own weight comes apart.

Gravitation

The distance at which a moon stops holding together

The tide across a body falls as the inverse cube; the body's own gravity does not fall at all. There is therefore exactly one crossing, and Saturn's rings end within a few per cent of it.

Three bodies, integrated. Three equal masses integrated forward under mutual gravity: the figure-eight choreography — all three bodies on one closed curve. Every point is a step of the equations of motion, and the total energy is conserved to 2.5e-11 across the run.

Gravitation

Three bodies, and what "no solution" actually means

The three-body problem is routinely called unsolvable. Trajectories are computed for it every day, exact periodic solutions are known, and both statements are true — the word is doing more work than it looks.

$The Kirkwood gaps. Asteroid numbers against semi-major axis, with the resonant radii marked. Each gap sits where the orbital period is a simple fraction of Jupiter's, and each of those radii is computed from the harmonic law rather than placed by eye.$ Gravitation

Resonance clears a gap in one place and locks a moon in another

When two orbital periods are in a simple ratio, small tugs stop averaging away and start accumulating. Sometimes that empties a region entirely. Sometimes it holds three moons together for the age of the solar system.

$The surface a star stops at. The equipotential through L₁ — the Roche lobe — at mass fractions 0.50, 0.20, 0.05, in the frame that rotates with the pair. Each is a level set of exactly the same function the zero-velocity curves are level sets of, at exactly the critical value, so nothing here is a new construction: the Roche lobe is the last closed equipotential, and it is closed only because the two lobes touch at a single point. Material that reaches that point is no longer bound to the star it came from, and it leaves through an opening of zero area. The lobes are drawn in the orbital plane; in three dimensions each is a teardrop, and its volume-equivalent radius is what "the size of a Roche lobe" means. As the mass ratio becomes extreme the smaller star's lobe shrinks towards it, which is why a white dwarf accreting from a companion has a lobe smaller than the Sun.$ Gravitation

The surface a star stops at

Around each star of a close pair there is a last closed equipotential, and the two touch at a single point. A star that swells to reach it hands its outer layers to its companion through an opening of zero area — and the transfer, once started, makes itself worse.

Mercury's perihelion, term by term. The observed advance of Mercury's perihelion is 5600 arcseconds per century against the equinox. Almost all of it is the equinox: the coordinate frame itself turns, and removing it leaves 574. Subtracting the perturbations of the other planets — computed by Le Verrier in 1859 and refined many times since — leaves 42.98 arcseconds a century that nothing in Newtonian gravitation accounts for. The bars are logarithmic in nothing; they are the real proportions, which is why the residual is barely visible beside the frame term.

Gravitation

Forty-three arcseconds, after everything else

Mercury's perihelion moves through 5,600 arcseconds a century. Nearly all of that is the coordinate system turning, and almost all of the rest is the other planets. What was left over was 43 — under one per cent of the raw number, and the most consequential residual in the history of the subject.

Gravitation

A day five hours long

The tidal bulge leads, so the Earth's spin is being paid into the Moon's orbit. Run the measured payment backwards and two curves come out of one integration — a timeline that is refuted by the Moon's own age, and a day length that is refuted by nothing.

PSR B1913+16: 45 years of periastron arriving 88 seconds early. The cumulative shift of periastron passage for PSR B1913+16, Δt = ½(Ṗ_b/P_b)T², over 45 years from its discovery in 1975. The orbital period is 0.322997449 days and is measured to be shortening at 2.423e-12 seconds per second — a change in the twelfth decimal place, which over a career accumulates to 87.5 seconds. That is the whole reason the effect is measurable. Ṗ_b is taken here as a measured quantity and no radiated power is derived from it; the parabola is the general-relativistic prediction as published, and the points are that prediction scaled by the published ratio of observed to predicted decay, 0.997 ± 0.002 (Hulse & Taylor 1975; Weisberg & Huckins 2016), which is how the agreement is quoted. The error bars are drawn: at the last point the bar is 1.25 px tall against a dot 9 pixels across, so they are invisible, and their invisibility is the result. The campaign has run 45 years.

Gravitation

An orbit measured to be shrinking

A 7.75-hour orbital period that shortens by 68 nanoseconds each turn is beyond any single measurement, and unmissable after fifty thousand of them, because the shift accumulates as the square of the elapsed time. Forty-five years of pulse arrival times have made it 87.5 seconds, which is why the rate is a measured quantity rather than an inferred one.

A separation of 10⁻¹⁰ becomes 0.0285. The distance between two copies of Burrau's problem, started 10⁻¹⁰ apart in one coordinate of one body and then stepped in lockstep — one loop, one step size, both states advanced by it — for 60 time units. The vertical axis is logarithmic, so the straight stretch is exponential growth, and its slope is the Lyapunov exponent: 0.3413 per time unit, fitted over the 604 samples lying between ten times the starting offset and a tenth of the system's own size. That is an e-folding every 2.93 time units, so the separation multiplies by ten every 6.75 and by 7.8·10⁸ across the whole run. It has not saturated within the drawn interval: the growth rate over the last tenth of the run is still 0.6002 per time unit, 176% of the fitted exponent, and the separation has reached only 0.90% of the system's own size. The exponent is what sets a prediction horizon, and this run is drawn short of it on purpose: the straight line is the measurement, and the flat part that follows is arithmetic about how far apart two bounded systems can get.

Gravitation

A prediction with an expiry date

The inner solar system's Lyapunov time is about five million years, so a centimetre of error becomes an orbit in a hundred million. The ephemeris dies while the system survives — because the elements stay bounded when the phase does not, and only one of those is what stability means.

The contours a planetary encounter cannot cross. Contours of the Tisserand parameter with respect to Jupiter in the plane of semi-major axis and eccentricity, drawn for a coplanar orbit. An encounter with Jupiter moves a comet along one of these curves and never across one, because T is what the encounter conserves. The heavy contours are at T = 3 and T = 2, and they are the boundaries the comet families are defined by: T > 3 means no encounter is possible at all, since v∞²/v_J² = 3 − T and a negative squared speed is not a trajectory; 2 < T < 3 is the Jupiter family; below 2 the approach speed exceeds Jupiter's own orbital speed and the orbits are the nearly isotropic ones. The shaded boundary is the crossing condition — an orbit whose pericentre is outside Jupiter's, or whose apocentre is inside it, never meets the planet whatever its T. The five comets are placed at their JPL elements and labelled with the T the literature quotes; all five with inclination sit off the coplanar contours by exactly the cos i in the definition, which is why 1P/Halley's is negative — a retrograde orbit meets Jupiter at nearly twice Jupiter's speed.

Gravitation

The number that survives the encounter

A comet that passes Jupiter comes away with every orbital element changed. One combination of them is not changed, and it is enough to recognise the comet afterwards, to sort the comet families, and to say where a spacecraft can and cannot go.

$A thousandth of the field, and all of the precession. Left: the Earth's figure against a sphere of the same equatorial radius, with the flattening drawn 28× its true value. The real difference between the equatorial and polar radii is 21.4 km on 6378 — 1 part in 298 — which at this size would be 0.5 pixels and invisible, so the drawing is a schematic and the number is here instead. Right: the two components of the J₂ perturbation at the surface, each as a fraction of the monopole μ/r², both differentiated from the potential rather than quoted. The radial one strengthens the inward pull by 1.62×10⁻³ over the equator, where the extra mass is, and weakens it by 3.25×10⁻³ over the poles, vanishing at ±35.26° where P₂ does. The transverse one is zero at the equator and at both poles and peaks at ±45°, at 1.62×10⁻³ — and that is the component that does the work. It pulls an inclined orbit back towards the equatorial plane, which is a torque about the line of nodes, and a torque applied to something already turning moves it sideways rather than back. Averaged over an orbit the pair leave a, e and i untouched and turn the whole plane instead, which is why a term a thousandth of the field is the largest single perturbation on almost every satellite ever flown.$ Gravitation

The Earth's shape, read off a satellite's node

The Earth is a thousandth of a part from being a sphere, and that thousandth turns every satellite's orbital plane. Vanguard 1 measured it in 1959 — and one retrograde inclination turns the plane at exactly the rate the Sun moves, which is a perturbation used as a design constraint rather than corrected for.

The wake, computed from the streamlines that make it. Left: 26 streamlines past a point mass, in the mass's own frame, each integrated from far upstream with the same speed and a different impact parameter, and mirrored about the axis. Nothing is drawn to converge — every track is the hyperbola its own impact parameter gives it, and they cross downstream because an attraction focuses. Right: the density that focusing produces at 3.2 focusing radii behind the mass, as (b/y)(db/dy) — the Jacobian of the map from starting radius to arrival radius — which peaks at 15.53 times the background at 0.03 radii off the axis. The overdensity is behind the mass, and that is the entire mechanism: the wake pulls backwards on the body that made it. What the figure cannot show is the steady state, because it has no time in it: a real wake is continuously replenished, and the drag is the sum over an infinite train of these encounters, which is where Chandrasekhar's logarithm comes from.

Gravitation

A drag with nothing to drag against

A massive body moving through a sea of light ones raises an overdensity behind itself and is pulled back by it. The force does not depend on the masses of the background bodies at all — and it is strongest at one particular speed.

The last curve across the cylinder, before and after it breaks. Surfaces of section for the standard map at K = 0.5, 0.9716, 1.4, each 22 trajectories iterated 41 times from a column of starting values. Nothing here is placed: every dot is an iterate. At K = 0.5 the islands are separate and the space between them is filled with curves that run all the way round in θ — a trajectory cannot get from one island to the next, and one started beside the hyperbolic fixed point wanders 2.91 in p — 0.46 of a cylinder — and stops. At K = 0.9716, which is Greene's threshold to four figures, the last of those curves is on the point of going and the same trajectory still only reaches 4.84, which is 0.77 of a cylinder. At K = 1.4 it covers 6.1 cylinders: the barrier is gone and there is nothing left to stop it. That transition is what a chaotic zone in the asteroid belt is, drawn without any asteroids.

Gravitation

Where the chaos comes from

A Lyapunov time says how long a prediction lasts. It does not say what destroyed it. The mechanism is two resonances whose libration widths overlap, and the transition can be watched happening on a surface of section as one number is turned up.

255 km sees degree 154; 35786 km sees degree 6. The same field spectrum, multiplied by the upward continuation factor (R/r)ˡ⁺¹ for orbits at 255 km, 450 km, 800 km, 35786 km. A harmonic of degree ℓ has ℓ bumps around the planet, so it falls off with height like a wave of that wavelength — fast, and faster the finer it is. The horizontal rule is a measurement floor; where each curve crosses it is the highest degree that orbit can feel at all, and the answer is 154 at 255 km, 101 at 450 km, 65 at 800 km, 6 at 35786 km, or 130 km, 198 km, 308 km, 3340 km of horizontal resolution on the ground. Nothing in that arithmetic is an instrument. It is why GOCE flew at 255 kilometres with drag compensation rather than at a comfortable altitude with a better gradiometer, why the Moon's mascons were not seen until something orbited low over them, and why a geostationary satellite's ephemeris needs a field with four terms in it.

Gravitation

The field a satellite is allowed to feel

Past the flattening, a planet's gravity is a sum of harmonics whose sizes follow a rule with no physics in it. How much of that sum a spacecraft can measure is decided by its altitude and by nothing else — which is why one mission flew at 255 kilometres and had to push itself along.

Gravitation

A feeding zone, and the spacing it forces

The radius that decides what a planet may keep also decides what it could reach while it was growing — and measuring the gaps between planets in that unit turns a distribution spanning three orders of magnitude in astronomical units into a band a factor of ten wide, with a floor that is partly a theorem and partly a fit.

Io's measured heat needs k₂/Q = 0.016, and Enceladus's needs 0.011. Tidal surface heat flux against orbital eccentricity, from Ė = (21/2)(k₂/Q)GM_p²R⁵ne²/a⁶ evaluated at each satellite's own orbit, drawn at a common k₂/Q of 0.015. Every line has slope 2 because the dissipation is quadratic in e and nothing else on this axis varies. The filled marks are each body at its actual eccentricity; the two ringed ones are the bodies with a measured surface heat flux, and they are the only points here that are observations. Solving each of those for k₂/Q gives 0.016 for Io and 0.011 for Enceladus — within a factor of 1.5 of one another, for a warm silicate body and a 500-kilometre ball of ice, which ought to be a coincidence and is instead the sharpest problem in the subject: nothing about Enceladus's ice can plausibly dissipate at 0.011, and the number is what the heat requires all the same. The dashed line is the Earth's measured surface heat flux, 0.087 W/m², which Io exceeds by a factor of 28 — the most volcanically active body in the solar system is the fourth largest moon of the fifth planet, and the reason is entirely in the orbit.

Gravitation

A moon heated by not being allowed to relax

Tidal dissipation goes as the square of an eccentricity that tides themselves destroy, so a moon radiating tidal heat is spending something it cannot have saved. Io's would be gone in a hundred and forty thousand years, and the resonance that keeps putting it back is the reason there are volcanoes.

Gravitation

A step that must not be adapted

A symplectic integrator's bounded energy error is a property of a fixed step. It is conserving a Hamiltonian a step-size away from the intended one, and changing the step changes which Hamiltonian — so refining the step at a close encounter, which is the first thing anybody does, destroys the only property the method was chosen for.

Gravitation

A ring weighed by the wave crossing it

Saturn's rings are a few tens of metres thick and spread over an area larger than the Earth, made of pieces nobody can resolve, and nothing has ever landed on them. Their mass per unit area is nevertheless known to a few per cent — from the rate at which the crests of a wave crowd together as it travels outwards.

One measured number, and every pair of masses that produces it. The plane of the two component masses of an inspiralling binary, with three curves of constant chirp mass across it. The middle one is GW150914's value of 28.7 solar masses, and the chirp mass recovered from the coordinates of the drawn curve varies along its whole length by 7.4e-14 per cent — which is the point: every binary on that line radiates the same frequency sweep at leading order, so the early inspiral cannot tell them apart. Two of them are marked. An equal pair of 33.0 and 33.0 solar masses and a lopsided pair of 63.6 and 18.4 sit on the same contour, and their total masses differ by a factor of 1.24. What separates them is the mass ratio, which enters the phasing only at the first post-Newtonian order, suppressed by the square of the orbital speed in units of the speed of light — small through the hundreds of cycles that carry most of the signal, and appreciable only in the last few, where that speed approaches a third of c. So the chirp mass is a measurement and the individual masses are an inference from the end of the signal, which is exactly the part a detector's high-frequency noise eats first.

Gravitation

One number where two masses were

The hundreds of orbits an inspiralling binary completes inside a detector's band depend on its two masses only through one combination of them. Every pair on that contour radiates an identical sweep, so the early signal — which carries nearly all the signal-to-noise — cannot say which pair it was.

7 decades of relaxation time, and a Hubble time between them. Crossing time and two-body relaxation time for 5 self-gravitating systems, against the number of bodies in each. The lower marks are the crossing time R/σ, which spans 3 decades; the upper ones are t_relax ≈ 0.1N/ln N times it, which spans 8. The horizontal rule is a Hubble time, and the same expression puts these systems on opposite sides of it. Two of them relax — an open cluster and a globular cluster — so their stars have exchanged energy, their heavy stars have sunk, and their present structure is not the one they were born with. The rest do not: a dwarf spheroidal, an elliptical galaxy, a cluster of galaxies, the elliptical missing it by a factor of 10⁶, which is why a galaxy is modelled as a smooth potential with no stars in it at all. The dependence is on N and hardly at all on anything else, because the Coulomb logarithm makes every decade of impact parameter contribute equally. A cluster that relaxes also evaporates: about a stellar mass in a hundred and forty leaves per relaxation time, so the globular cluster empties in 6.1·10¹¹ years.

Gravitation

A cluster that boils itself away

A star cluster has no thermostat. Encounters between its members push a few of them above escape speed, the cluster loses them, and losing them makes it contract — which makes it hotter, which makes more of them escape. A self-gravitating system heats up as it loses energy, and the process ends by destroying the system.

The Sun's altitude through the day at latitude 52°. Solar altitude against the hour of the day, at one latitude, for the solstices and the equinox. Where a curve crosses zero is sunrise or sunset, and the width between the crossings is the length of the day.

The observed sky

The Sun's path, and the tilt that makes the seasons

Summer is not when the Earth is closest to the Sun — that happens in January. It is when the Sun climbs higher and stays up longer, and both come from a 23.4° tilt.

The observed sky

The pole star has a shelf life, and the sky has a slow hand

The Earth's axis traces a circle among the stars once every 25,772 years. Polaris is at the pole now, was not four thousand years ago, and will not be in two thousand more.

The observed sky

The eclipse that repeats a third of a world away

Three lunar periods nearly share a multiple after 6,585 days. The word "nearly" is what makes eclipses predictable, and the leftover third of a day is what moves each repeat a third of the way round the Earth.

The observed sky

The wobble inside the wobble

Precession and nutation are the same torque. The difference is that the Moon's orbital plane turns once in 18.6 years, so part of the pull oscillates instead of accumulating — and a catalogue position is not a direction until it says which pole it is measured from.

The observed sky

Six kinds of second

The Earth is a clock that loses, and it has lost five and a half hours since 700 BC. That number was measured from the places ancient eclipses were seen from, not the times they were seen at — because the record carries a longitude and no clock.

$The Metonic cycle slips a day in 219 years, and the next rule needs 334. Accumulated disagreement between a lunisolar rule and the sky, against elapsed time, for the continued-fraction convergents of the 12.368266 synodic months in a tropical year. Each line is one historical cycle: 2 years to 25 months, 3 years to 37 months, 8 years to 99 months, 11 years to 136 months, 19 years to 235 months, 334 years to 4131 months. Every line has slope exactly 1, because an error made once per cycle accumulates linearly, so the only thing that distinguishes the rules is where they start. The two that were actually used are the octaeteris — eight years, 1.59 days out per cycle, useless within a generation — and Meton's nineteen, which is out by 2.1 hours per cycle and therefore takes 219 years to slip a single day. The reason nineteen is so much better than eleven is a number in the continued fraction rather than anything about the Moon: the partial quotient that follows 235/19 is 17, and a convergent's error is bounded by one over the next quotient times the square of its denominator — so a large quotient there is exactly a good approximation here, and the next improvement costs 334 years of cycle for a rule nobody could keep. What follows from the 219 years is the whole character of a lunisolar calendar: it is a table rather than an observation. The ecclesiastical moon that fixes Easter is computed from a Metonic cycle, not looked at, and the Julian version of that computus — still used to date Easter in the Eastern churches — has slipped four to five days from the sky since it was fixed in the fourth century, exactly as this plot says it must. A calendar's job is agreement, and agreement and accuracy are different requirements that diverge at a rate the arithmetic predicts.$ The observed sky

A month that has to be tabulated

A lunisolar calendar reconciles two periods that share no common multiple, so every historical cycle is a convergent of one continued fraction. Meton's nineteen years is wrong by two hours, which is a day in two hundred and nineteen years — and that is why the moon that fixes Easter is a table rather than the sky.

The observed sky

A star that blinked before it should have

In March 1977 three teams watching a star pass behind Uranus recorded it dimming five times before the planet arrived — and then, symmetrically, five times again on the way out. The symmetry is the whole argument — nothing but a set of rings concentric with the planet produces a mirror image about closest approach.

Starlight

The same width for three different reasons

Thermal motion, rotation and collisions each widen an absorption line, and they can be tuned to areas that agree to a part in a thousand. What separates them is the shape, and the shape carries a rotation speed from one profile and a surface gravity from another.

Starlight

The direction a photon count throws away

A photometer records how many photons arrived. It discards a two-component quantity that survives every attenuation on the way, and that quantity carries a magnetic field direction, a grain size, and the shape of an exploding star nobody can resolve.

$A colour term of -0.059 magnitudes per magnitude, and one star that will not obey it. Synthetic photometry of blackbodies from 3,000 to 42,000 K through two V bands: the standard one, and a natural system whose effective wavelength is 9 nm longer and whose width is 1.12 times as large. The vertical axis is the difference between the two magnitudes for the same star — not a constant, because a wider redder band collects a different fraction of a hot spectrum than of a cool one. Fitting a straight line against B − V gives a colour term of -0.0585 magnitudes per magnitude and leaves a residual of 3.1 millimagnitudes, which is why a linear transformation is the standard reduction and why it works. The mark off the line is a cool star with molecular absorption bands in the red, drawn from the same blackbody with three synthetic bites taken out of it: it sits 27 millimagnitudes from the fit, 9 times the blackbody scatter. A colour term knows one number about a star and a spectrum has a shape, and that gap is the reason all-sky photometry stops at a per cent while differential photometry on one field reaches a millimagnitude.$ Starlight

The same star through two telescopes

A magnitude is defined by a response curve, and no two telescopes have the same one. The difference between two observatories' measurements of one star is not a constant to be subtracted but a function of the star's colour — and for a star whose spectrum has structure, not even that.

Starlight

A field strength read off a line that will not split

A few hundred gauss splits a spectral line by a ten-thousandth of its own Doppler width, which no spectrograph will ever resolve. The two components are circularly polarised with opposite handedness, so the split survives in the difference of two polarisations — where it is linear in the field rather than quadratic.

Starlight

A mean dominated by the gaps

The opacity in the equation of radiative transport is not an average of the opacity. It is a harmonic average weighted by the temperature derivative of the Planck function, which makes it a measurement of the transparent windows between the lines rather than of the lines — and that single fact decides what adding a million spectral lines to a table does.

$Three ways for a timing model to be wrong, and three shapes that say which. Timing residuals over 6 years for the Crab pulsar, one curve per kind of error in the model, in microseconds. A position error of 1.2 mas leaves a sinusoid of period exactly one year — measured off the drawn curve as 1.000 — with amplitude (a/c)·δθ·cos β = 2.7 μs, because the error is being projected onto a baseline that is the Earth's own orbit and nothing about the pulsar. An unmodelled proper motion of 0.9 mas/yr leaves the same sinusoid with an envelope growing linearly: twice as large at 6 years as at 3. An error of one part in 10⁹ in Ṗ leaves a parabola, the second integral of a frequency drift, whose second derivative is constant to 4e-12 across the span — and that fractional error is deliberately minute, because anything larger produces a residual thousands of times the other two and draws them as flat lines. The shapes do not resemble each other, which is the whole reason a pulsar is an instrument rather than a clock: fitting them simultaneously delivers a position, a proper motion and — from the annual curvature term, not drawn here — a parallax, all from the arrival times of pulses and no image of anything. What is left when every known shape has been removed is the science: glitches, red noise, and the correlated residual between pairs of pulsars that a timing array exists to find.$ Stars

A clock read against a model of everything in between

A pulsar delivers arrival times and nothing else. Everything else is a model, and what is measured is the difference between the model and the arrivals — a residual whose shape says which term is wrong, and whose annual sinusoid is a position measured from pulses rather than from an image.

4 cycles of wings, and the polarity reverses at every boundary. Sunspot latitude against date, one mark per spot group, over 4 cycles of 11 years. The pattern is the reason the plot is called a butterfly diagram, and both of its features are laws with names. Spörer's law is the downward slope: spots emerge near ±28° at the start of a cycle and near ±7° at the end, so each wing narrows towards the equator and never crosses it. Hale's law is what the two mark shapes say: the leading spot of a pair has one magnetic polarity in the north and the other in the south, and both reverse when a new cycle starts — so a diagram that repeats every 11 years in appearance repeats only every 22 in magnetism. The wings overlap: the first high-latitude spots of a cycle appear about 1.6 years before the last low-latitude spots of the one before, which is why counting spots gives a cycle length slightly different from measuring one between polarity reversals. The dot density in time is the sunspot number itself, drawn from the standard skewed fitting function — the rise to maximum takes about four years and the decline about seven, in every cycle ever recorded.

Stars

A magnetic clock read off a butterfly

Plot sunspot latitude against date and the marks form wings that open at thirty degrees and march to the equator. The polarities reverse between wings, so the magnetic period is twenty-two years and the famous eleven is an artefact of counting spots rather than fields.

A gravity assist with a 70° turn. The velocity triangle of a flyby. In the planet's frame the spacecraft's speed is unchanged and only its direction turns; adding the planet's own velocity converts that turn into a gain in speed measured from the Sun.

Spaceflight

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.

$How small a sphere of influence is. Each planet's sphere of influence as a fraction of its own orbital radius, against that radius, both logarithmic. The largest belongs to Jupiter at 6.19% and the smallest to Mercury at 0.194%. The patched-conic method treats a trajectory as heliocentric everywhere outside these, and the figure is the argument for why that costs so little: they are thousandths of the journey.$ Spaceflight

One trajectory, stitched from three two-body problems

An interplanetary flight is a problem with no closed solution. It is flown by cutting it into pieces that each have one, and the seams are places where the model is knowingly false.

Down by 280 km, and faster by 164 m/s. A circular orbit at 400 km with a ballistic coefficient of 100 kg/m², integrated down to 120 km through a tabulated atmosphere at solar minimum and solar maximum. At solar min it takes 1.2 years; at solar max it takes 147 days — a factor of 2.9 for the same satellite in the same orbit, decided by an eleven-year cycle nobody controls. The rising curves are the orbital speed on the right-hand scale, and they are the point: the drag force is opposite the motion and takes energy out, and the body goes faster, from 7673 to 7836 m/s. There is no contradiction in it. The specific energy is −μ/2a, so removing energy shrinks a, and the circular speed √(μ/a) rises when a falls; the kinetic energy gained is exactly half the potential energy lost, and the other half is what the air took. Every point on every curve was integrated from da/dt = −(ρ/β)√(μa), and the speed at each point is √(μ/a) at that point rather than a separate model.

Spaceflight

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.

three revolutions, on a turning Earth. The ground track of a circular orbit at 420 km and 51.64° inclination, over 3 revolutions, on an equirectangular graticule. The latitude is a sine wave bounded by ±51.64° exactly — sin φ = sin i sin u, so the inclination is the highest latitude the orbit ever passes over, and it is reached twice per revolution. Each successive pass is displaced west by (ω⊕ − Ω̇) × 92.90 min = 23.61°, of which 0.32° is the orbital plane's own regression and the rest is the planet turning underneath: the vehicle comes back to nearly the same place in inertial space and the place has moved. The period used is the nodal one, 92.899 min against the Keplerian 92.970: J₂ makes the two differ by 4.31 s, which is 0.018° of walk per revolution and 102° in a year — the difference between a repeat track and a track that used to repeat. The map is equirectangular and therefore wrong about area everywhere; what it is right about is longitude difference, which is the whole of what this figure measures.

Spaceflight

The line under a satellite

A ground track is an orbit seen from a frame that is turning, so every pass lands west of the last one. The track closes only when two periods are commensurable — which turns "look at the same place every day" into a condition on the altitude.

Two outcomes, and a boundary with no width. 26 trajectories launched from one point beyond L₂, all at the one speed the Jacobi constant C = 3.5124 permits there, differing only in the direction they set off in. The heavy curve is the zero-velocity boundary at that constant — the region no trajectory of this energy may enter — and it is open at L₂ by the neck the trajectories are aimed at. 11 of the 26 pass through into the secondary's realm and 15 turn back, and they are not interleaved — sweeping the launch direction through 65° finds one changeover and nothing in between. Bisecting the first of them pins it to 2.6e-12 radians, and the integrator runs out of digits before the boundary runs out of sharpness. That surface is the tube. It is the stable manifold of the periodic orbit about L₂, it separates transit from non-transit everywhere and not only in this fan, and a mission that wants to arrive for nothing has to be put inside it.

Spaceflight

The tube that leads out of a neck

Below a certain energy the forbidden region opens at a Lagrange point, and a trajectory may pass. Which ones do is decided by a surface with no width at all — and two tubes that meet give a transfer that costs nothing at the join.

Where the fuel goes, and it is not where a satellite points. Left, the orbit pole of a geostationary satellite, in degrees from the Earth's. The Sun and the Moon between them carry it round a circle of radius 7.4° in 53 years, and a satellite launched into the equatorial plane starts on the rim of that circle rather than at its centre — so its inclination climbs from zero at 0.88° a year, reaches 14.8° after 27 years, and comes back. Right, what holding it costs. A plane change of 0.88° at 3.07 km/s is 47.1 m/s a year; holding the longitude against the equatorial bulge, computed from the same resonant term that makes the longitude a pendulum, is 1.8 m/s a year. North–south is 96% of the budget, and a satellite that gives up on it does not fail — it starts tracing a figure of eight on the sky 1.8° tall in the first year, which a fixed dish cannot follow and a steerable one can. Retiring at the end of the propellant is therefore a choice about which service ends first.

Spaceflight

The orbit that has to be paid for every year

A geostationary satellite is not in equilibrium in any direction. The Sun and Moon tilt its plane by 0.85 degrees a year, the Earth's equatorial ellipticity makes two longitudes stable and two unstable, and the end of a satellite's life is the end of its propellant.

A burn along the track moves the chaser 8330 m backwards. Three 0.5 m/s impulses from rest alongside a target in a 400 km circular orbit, followed for 2 revolutions in the frame riding on the target. Along-track distance runs across the page with the direction of travel to the left, and radial distance up. The prograde burn ends 8330 metres behind after one revolution — exactly 6πΔv/n, and it is behind rather than ahead because the burn raised the orbit and a higher orbit takes longer. The retrograde burn ends 8330 metres ahead by the same arithmetic with the sign reversed. The radial burn is the third case and the strange one: it opens a closed loop and returns exactly to where it started after a revolution, having gone nowhere at a cost of 0.5 m/s. That is not a curiosity but the basis of the R-bar approach, in which a vehicle closes on a station from below along a path that costs nothing to abandon.

Spaceflight

A burn that moves the wrong way

In the frame riding on an orbiting target, a thrust along the direction of travel leaves a chaser eight kilometres behind after one lap, a radial thrust returns it exactly to where it started, and every free relative orbit is the same ellipse — twice as long along the track as it is across.

A quadratic and a linear, crossing at 149 objects. The two rates that decide whether a shell at 900 km is stable, against how many objects are in it. Production goes as N² — every collision needs two objects, so the number of collisions is proportional to the square of the population, and each one is taken here to make 1600 trackable fragments. Removal goes as N, because drag acts on each object independently and takes 1,195 years to do it at this altitude. A quadratic and a linear cross exactly once, at 149 objects in this shell, and above that crossing the population grows with nothing launched. The shell presently holds about 2,280, which is 15 times the crossing. Every number on the production side is uncertain by a factor of a few — the fragment yield most of all, and the cross-section is calibrated against an observed collision rate rather than measured — so the position of the crossing carries that uncertainty with it. The shape does not, and the shape is the argument: a quadratic overtakes a linear once and never comes back, the crossing falls as the altitude rises because the lifetime is in the denominator, and what results is a threshold rather than a trend.

Spaceflight

A collision rate that needs no collision

The flux through an orbital shell is a gas-kinetic calculation with no orbits in it. Production goes as the square of the population and removal goes as the first power, so a quadratic overtakes a linear once and never comes back — and which side of that a shell is on is decided by its altitude.

Exoplanets

A planet that was the star's own rotation

A dark spot rotating across a star removes light from the approaching limb and then the receding one, and the line centroid moves. That is several metres a second at the rotation period, from no planet at all — and two of the most celebrated nearby planets were withdrawn on exactly this evidence.

Exoplanets

A gap in a histogram that says how planets are built

Between the super-Earths and the sub-Neptunes there is a radius at which planets are markedly rarer. The gap is not a gap in what can be detected, and its slope with orbital period names the process that made it.

A transit that will not keep time. Transit times of a planet of 8 Earth masses on a 3-day orbit, minus the best straight line through them, from a three-body integration in which the second planet at 4.62 days is the only thing perturbing it. The residual swings by ±1.7 minutes and repeats over 58 days — the super-period 1/|3/P₂ − 2/P₁|, which is long precisely because the pair is near the 3:2 resonance and gets longer the nearer it is. The amplitude is proportional to the perturbing planet's mass, so fitting this curve weighs a planet that may never transit at all. The short jagged component is not noise: it is the chopping signal, one kick per conjunction at the 8.6-day synodic period, sampled once every 3 days by the transits themselves and so barely above the rate at which it can be followed. The integration conserved energy to 1.6e-10.

Exoplanets

Planets found by a transit running late

A planet on a fixed orbit transits like a clock. A second planet pulling on it makes the clock run fast and slow by minutes — and fitting that wander weighs a planet that may never cross the star at all.

Exoplanets

A planet where one cannot form

A Jupiter at four days orbits inside a region that was too hot to hold ice and too small to hold the material. It did not form there — and the distribution of eccentricities says which of two journeys brought it in.

Libration and circulation of a resonant angle. The critical angle of a resonance over time, integrated from the pendulum equation it obeys. Below the separatrix the angle oscillates about a fixed value — the body is locked; above it, the angle runs without bound and the body is not.

Exoplanets

A chain that could not have been assembled in place

Seven planets whose successive period ratios are all close to small whole numbers. Capture into a resonance requires the orbits to converge slowly, and converging slowly is something planets can only do in a disc.

$The same wind strips a mini-Neptune inside 0.06 au and leaves a hot Jupiter intact. The fraction of a planet's hydrogen envelope removed in 5 billion years by an energy-limited wind, against orbital distance, at a heating efficiency of 0.15 and an extreme-ultraviolet fluence integrated over the star's own history — saturated at L_XUV/L_bol = 3.2·10⁻⁴ for the first 100 million years and declining as t to the power −1.23 after, which comes to 4.9·10¹⁵ J m⁻² at one astronomical unit and is some 7 times what today's flux would give over the same span. This is a different mechanism from the tail of a Maxwellian, not a correction to it. Close to a star the upper atmosphere absorbs more extreme ultraviolet than it can radiate away, expands, and flows off as a wind whose rate is set by the energy arriving — Ṁ = ηπR³F/GM — so the exponential in the Jeans parameter vanishes entirely and what remains is a ratio of radius cubed to mass, which is one over the density. That is why the three curves are ordered as they are. The hot Jupiter is dense enough to lose 0.0087 of itself even at 0.047 au, where HD 209458 b sits and where its escaping hydrogen makes a transit fifteen per cent deep in Lyman α against one and a half per cent in the optical — an exosphere filling and overflowing the Roche lobe, and still costing the planet almost nothing. The mini-Neptune loses its whole envelope anywhere inside 0.06 au, and what is left when it does is a bare core about 1.5 Earth radii across. That is one of the two standard accounts of the gap in the radius histogram, and this figure is what it looks like before any of the observations are brought in.$ Exoplanets

A planet ten times larger in one colour

A hot Neptune that blocks one and a half per cent of its star's light in the optical blocks fifteen per cent of it in the ultraviolet line of hydrogen. No bound atmosphere can be that large — the material is well outside the planet's Roche lobe — so the observation is not a measurement of an atmosphere but of one leaving.

Galaxies

An arm that cannot be made of stars

A galaxy's disc turns differentially, so any feature made of a fixed set of stars is wound to invisibility within a couple of rotations. Spiral arms are ten billion years old and still open, which means an arm is a place rather than a thing.

Where a 2-armed pattern is allowed to exist in the Milky Way. Angular speed against radius, with the two combinations that matter for a pattern of 2 arms. A wave turning at 25 km/s per kpc corotates with the stars at 8.7 kpc, has an inner Lindblad resonance at 1.9 kpc and an outer one at 13.8 kpc. Between the Lindblad radii the wave propagates; at them it is absorbed. Every one of these radii is found by bisection on the curves as drawn, not quoted — and none of them is a property of the pattern alone, because κ comes from the rotation curve, which comes from the mass.

Galaxies

Where a pattern is allowed to turn

A spiral wave has one pattern speed, and that single number decides where in the disc it can exist at all. The boundaries are set by the frequency at which a star rocks radially about its circular orbit — a frequency the rotation curve already contains.

Three mass models, 2.3× apart in the disc, agreeing to 3.1 km/s everywhere. NGC 3198's rotation curve, decomposed three ways. The stellar disc has been scaled by 0.2, 0.65, 1.1 times its photometric mass, and for each scaling the halo's asymptotic speed and core radius have been fitted — not chosen — to reproduce the same total. The heavy curve and the marked points are that total: the three models agree with it to 3.08 km/s at every radius, well inside a measurement error of 4.5. The light curves below are the disc's own contribution, and at 17 kpc they differ by a factor of 2.3 — from 36 to 85 km/s — with the halo taking up exactly the slack, 126 down to 97. The curve is one function and the decomposition asks for two. The free parameter is the mass-to-light ratio of the stars, which the kinematics never measures, and it is why a "maximum disc" fit and a halo-dominated fit are both published for the same galaxy. The degeneracy does have one hard edge: scaling the disc to 1.35 times its photometric mass cannot be fitted by any halo in the family — the best leaves 5.6 km/s rms — because past the maximum-disc solution the stars alone already overshoot the curve and a halo cannot have negative mass. That is the one thing a rotation curve says about M/L on its own, and it is an upper limit. What separates the rest has to come from somewhere else: the vertical velocity dispersion of the disc, which weighs the stars alone; gas-rich dwarfs where there is scarcely a disc to argue about; or the baryonic Tully–Fisher relation, which ties the halo's speed to the baryons and would be a coincidence if the two were independent.

Galaxies

The same curve, two galaxies

A rotation curve is one function of radius. Decomposing it asks for two — how much of the speed is the stars and how much is the halo — and the mass-to-light ratio that trades one against the other is not measured by anything in the kinematics. A maximum disc and a halo-dominated fit run through identical points.

A bridge and a tail, integrated. A disc of 180 massless particles on circular orbits, and a companion of 1 times the primary's mass on a parabolic orbit with a pericentre of 1.6 disc radii, integrated from before the encounter to well after it. Times are in units of the disc's own outer orbital period, measured from pericentre. The outermost ring, drawn separately, is the one that produces both the bridge and the tail: at 3 its furthest particle is 31.4 disc radii from the centre, having started at 0.9; the panels are scaled to hold ninety per cent of the particles, so the very end of the tail is outside them. Nothing has been ejected and no material is new — every particle is on the orbit its own initial conditions and the two masses give it.

Galaxies

A bridge and a tail drawn by one force

The long thin streamers coming out of interacting galaxies look like debris thrown off by a collision. They are nothing of the kind — a simulation with no collisions in it, no gas and no self-gravity produces them from the tidal field alone, and only when the encounter runs the same way the disc turns.

Galaxies

The cloud that cannot hold itself up

A cold cloud collapses when gravity beats pressure, and the mass at which that happens falls as the square root of the density — so the collapse makes the condition for collapse easier, over and over, until the gas can no longer get rid of the heat. That is why a cloud of ten thousand solar masses makes a cluster and not a star.

Cosmology

The same constant, measured twice, five sigma apart

The distance ladder gives an expansion rate of about 73 kilometres per second per megaparsec. The microwave background gives 67.4. Both quote errors near one per cent, both have been rebuilt from scratch by rival teams, and the gap between them has grown as the measurements have improved.

Distance modulus against redshift, for three universes. The distance modulus μ = 5 log₁₀(D_L/10 pc) against redshift for three universes, all with H₀ = 67.36 km/s/Mpc, with 60 model supernovae drawn from the ΛCDM curve with 0.15 magnitudes of scatter. The point of the figure is how little difference there is: across two decades of redshift the three curves stay within a few tenths of a magnitude, and at z = 0.5 the accelerating and decelerating cases differ by 0.387 mag. A cosmology is not read off this plot. It is read off the residual, which is the next figure.

Cosmology

An expansion that was supposed to be slowing

Gravity is attractive, so an expanding universe full of matter must be decelerating, and the only question was by how much. Two teams set out to measure the deceleration and both found a quarter of a magnitude of extra faintness at redshift half — which is the wrong sign.

The acoustic peaks, and where the geometry says they should be. The temperature angular power spectrum of the microwave background. The drawn curve is a monotone interpolation through the published positions and heights of the six peaks and five troughs of the Planck 2018 TT measurement — it is a representation of data, and nothing between two extrema is claimed. The marks along the top are not: they are computed from this collection's own cosmology as ℓₐ(m − 0.267), where ℓₐ = π × 13866 / 144.43 = 301.6 — π times the comoving distance to last scattering divided by the sound horizon there — is the angle the sound horizon subtends at last scattering turned into a multipole. The two agree to 2.8 per cent at worst across six peaks, which is the whole of what makes this a measurement of geometry: a wave of known physical wavelength, seen at a known distance, is a protractor. The first peak at ℓ = 220 corresponds to about 0.82 degrees on the sky — roughly twice the width of the full Moon, which is the largest hot and cold patch the sky has.

Cosmology

A standing wave frozen at one instant

The temperature of the microwave background varies across the sky by one part in a hundred thousand, and the sizes of the patches are not random. There is a preferred angular scale near one degree, and it is a sound wave that stopped ringing four hundred thousand years after the beginning.

One length, leaving and returning. The comoving Hubble radius c/aH against the scale factor, both logarithmic. Everything to the right of the kink is exact and is the same cosmology as every other figure here: after inflation the comoving Hubble radius grows, as a in the radiation era and as √a in the matter era, then turns over once Λ takes hold. Everything to the left is a schematic — the energy scale of inflation is unmeasured, so neither the height of the plateau nor the 62 e-folds drawn is a number anybody has — but the shape is not negotiable: in any accelerated expansion H is nearly constant, so c/aH falls as 1/a. The consequence is the mechanism. The solid horizontal line is a fixed comoving length of 209 Mpc: it starts inside the Hubble radius, is carried outside during inflation, sits frozen while nothing can act across it, and re-enters at z = 1090, which is last scattering — it is the scale the first acoustic peak is made of. The dashed line above it is the comoving size of the whole observable universe, 14148 Mpc, and the figure's quiet second finding is that it is still outside the Hubble radius: the very largest angular scales in the microwave background have never re-entered, which is why they show the primordial spectrum with no acoustic processing on it at all. One crossing does two jobs: it makes the sky uniform, because everything now visible was once in causal contact, and it makes it not quite uniform, because a quantum fluctuation stretched beyond the horizon has nothing left that can smooth it out.

Cosmology

Two coincidences with one mechanism

Opposite sides of the microwave sky were never in causal contact and have the same temperature to one part in a hundred thousand. The total density sits on the knife edge of flatness, which is an unstable equilibrium. Two fine-tunings of quite different kinds, and one epoch of accelerated expansion removes both.

A slice 1,000 megaparsecs across. 872 galaxies in a wedge 1000 comoving megaparsecs deep, generated as a Thomas process — Poisson centres at 0.00012 per square megaparsec, 13 galaxies each on average, scattered about their centre with a Gaussian of 22 Mpc. That is not a simulation of how structure formed and does not pretend to be; it is the simplest clustered process whose correlation function is known exactly, which is what lets the next figure check a measurement against something rather than against itself. What it does reproduce is the impression: at this scale the distribution is obviously not uniform, there are groups and there are gaps, and the eye finds patterns in it readily — including several that are not there, because the eye finds patterns in a Poisson field too. The question the next two figures ask is the only one that settles it: at what separation does the clustering stop, and is there a scale above which a box of this universe looks like any other box?

Cosmology

Homogeneous above a hundred megaparsecs

Every cosmological calculation in this field assumes the universe is the same everywhere. Looked at on any scale a person can picture, it plainly is not — it is stars in galaxies in groups in clusters in filaments around voids. The assumption is not a claim about appearance; it is a claim about a statistic, and the statistic has a scale attached.

Fingers 3.1 times long, a large scale squashed to 0.92, and a test of gravity. Left: a 360-megaparsec slice of a clustered universe, as the galaxies actually sit. Right: the same galaxies as a redshift survey records them, with the line of sight up the page. Nothing has moved sideways, because an angle is an angle; every displacement is along the line of sight, because that coordinate came from a redshift and a redshift is the expansion plus whatever the galaxy is doing on its own. Two effects, opposite in sign and separated by scale. Inside a cluster the motions are virial and random, 720 kilometres a second of them, which at H₀ = 67.36 is 11 megaparsecs of smearing on an object a few across: the clusters become fingers 3.1 times longer than they are wide, all pointing at the observer, which is the one structure in cosmology that is definitely not real. On the scale of a supercluster the motions are coherent — everything is falling in, so the far side is approaching and the near side receding — and the structure is compressed rather than stretched, to 0.92 of its true extent here, measured on cluster centroids so the fingers have already averaged away. Below: why that compression is worth having. Its amplitude is the rate at which structure is currently growing, and the growth rate is Ωₘ(z) raised to a power that general relativity fixes at about 0.55. A theory of gravity that differs from general relativity on cosmological scales while matching every solar-system test changes that exponent and nothing else, and the two curves drawn — γ = 0.55 and γ = 0.68 — differ by only 4 per cent at redshift a half, against error bars of 12 per cent on the points beside them. The worst systematic in a redshift survey is the measurement — and it is a hard one, because a quarter of a change in the exponent that governs how gravity assembles structure moves the observable by less than the width of the curve it is drawn on. What the picture cannot show is the degeneracy that limits it: what is measured is fσ₈, a product, and separating the growth rate from the amplitude of clustering needs something else entirely.

Cosmology

A map that is not of positions

One axis of every redshift survey is not a distance but a velocity, and the difference is not noise. Inside a cluster it smears the galaxies into a finger pointing at the observer; on the scale of a supercluster it compresses the structure — and the amount of that compression is a test of gravity.

Cosmology

A map stretched by the thing it measures

A redshift survey plots galaxies at distances derived from their redshifts, and a galaxy's redshift contains its own motion as well as the expansion. So the map is systematically distorted — squashed on large scales, drawn out into radial spikes on small ones — and both distortions are caused by the gravity the survey exists to measure.

Stars

The flow that narrows its own channel

Two stars close enough share a surface, and the point where that surface pinches is a valve. What comes through it changes the orbit, and the orbit changes the valve — with a sign that reverses at equal masses, which is why some binaries transfer quietly for a hundred million years and others tear themselves apart in a thousand.

A stream that is not the orbit it came from. 456 stars released in pairs from the two saddles of a 10⁵ solar-mass cluster over 4.0 billion years, integrated in a halo whose circular speed is 220 kilometres a second, drawn with the progenitor's own orbit. The cluster runs between 10 and 25 kiloparsecs and the orbit is the thin closed-looking curve; the stars are everything else. The point of the figure is the discrepancy. Stars leaving through the inner saddle are on slightly smaller orbits, turning round at a median of 24.77 kiloparsecs rather than the progenitor's 25.00, and therefore running ahead; stars leaving through the outer saddle reach 25.22 and fall behind. The whole spread is 1.8 per cent of the apocentre, which is the number worth carrying: an offset far too small to see in this drawing builds the entire stream, because it acts for four billion years. The two arms are therefore not merely displaced along the orbit, they are on different orbits, and the track a survey measures is a family of them rather than any single one. Fitting a Galactic potential by demanding that a stream lie along an orbit is wrong by exactly this much, and the size of the error grows with the mass of the progenitor, because the mass is what sets the distance between the two doors.

Galaxies

A stream is not the orbit it came from

A cluster torn apart by a galaxy leaves a thin trail of stars across the sky, and the obvious thing to do with it is fit an orbit. That is wrong by a knowable amount, because stars leave through two doors with a small energy offset and end up on a family of orbits rather than on one.

The whole kick, delivered in about two encounter times. The transverse force a body feels while a mass sweeps past it on a straight line, and the velocity that force has delivered so far, both against time in units of the impact parameter divided by the relative speed. The force is the component of the inverse-square attraction perpendicular to the path, which is the impact parameter over the cube of the distance, and it is drawn at its peak value of one at closest approach. The rising curve is its running integral, scaled by twice the gravitational constant times the mass over the impact parameter and the speed. Two things are visible and both are the point. The integral of the force over all time is exactly two in these units, so the kick is exactly 2GM/bv with no free constant anywhere — an answer to a three-body-shaped question obtained without solving anything. And it arrives quickly: 71 per cent of it within a single encounter time of closest approach and 98.6 per cent within the 6 drawn, which is what licenses calling the whole thing an impulse. On the scale of anything slower, the velocity changes discontinuously.

Gravitation

An answer obtained along a path that was not taken

Integrate the force of a passing mass along the straight line the body would have followed if the encounter had not happened, and out comes an exact deflection with no free constant in it. The approximation is circular, it is wrong in a known direction by a known amount, and it is the reason stellar dynamics has closed forms at all.

$Dynamical friction is strongest at 0.97 times the dispersion, and weaker either side. The dynamical friction on a body moving through a Maxwellian sea of stars, against its own speed in units of the square root of two times the velocity dispersion. The dashed curve is the fraction of the field moving slower than the body, which is the only part of the field that contributes: a star overtaking from behind pulls the body forward exactly as often as one being overtaken pulls it back, so the fast tail cancels out entirely. That fraction rises from nothing to one. The drag is that fraction divided by the square of the speed, and the quotient of a saturating numerator and a growing denominator has a single maximum, here at 0.97. The consequences run in both directions. A body moving much faster than the stars around it is barely slowed at all, which is why a galaxy passing through a cluster at a thousand kilometres a second does not sink; and a body already at rest with respect to the field feels nothing either, because there is no wake to be behind it. Sinking is therefore fastest in the middle of the process rather than at the start of it.$ Gravitation

A drag that is strongest in the middle

Dynamical friction is not like air resistance. Only the stars moving slower than the body contribute at all, so the drag rises from nothing, peaks when the body has slowed to about the speed of everything around it, and falls away again — which is why a fast satellite is never captured and a slow one sinks in a hurry.

An edge where two torques balance, 21 kilometres from the shepherd. Two torques on the edge of a ring, against distance from a shepherding moon, both axes logarithmic and both scaled by the same combination of surface density, radius and orbital rate so that only their shapes are being compared. The flat line is the viscous torque, which comes from collisions between ring particles and does not care how far away anything is; it is drawn for a kinematic viscosity of 12 square centimetres a second, within the range ring seismology gives. The falling line is the moon's, summed over the first-order resonances that crowd together as the gap narrows, which makes it an inverse cube. A flat curve and an inverse cube cross once, and the crossing is where an edge can sit: closer in the moon wins and pushes the material back, further out viscosity wins and the ring spreads. For Daphnis and the Keeler gap the balance lands 20.8 kilometres out against a measured half-width of 21, which is agreement to well inside the uncertainty on the viscosity — and it is the only handle anybody has on that viscosity, since the quantity being inferred is the collision rate among particles a metre across, a billion kilometres away.

Gravitation

An edge is a balance, not a boundary

A ring of particles spreads, because collisions move angular momentum outward. Something has to push back, and the something is a small moon whose torque falls as the inverse cube of the gap. A flat curve and an inverse cube cross once, and the crossing is the sharp edge — which is why an edge exists at all rather than a gradient.

Exoplanets

Capture is a direction, not a strength

A resonance holds a body that drifts into it from one side and lets go of one that drifts out the other way, and the asymmetry is not about how strong the resonance is. It is the sign of a derivative — whether the trapped region is growing or shrinking — which is why a chain of planets in resonance is direct evidence that they migrated toward each other.

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.

Orbits

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.

Exoplanets

A torque that nearly cancels

A planet embedded in a gas disc pulls on the material inside its orbit and outside it, and the two torques are almost equal and opposite. What survives the subtraction is a per cent of either, and it is still enough to carry a planet from where it formed to its star in less time than the disc lasts.

$The Sun's internal rotation: differential above 0.693 R, rigid below, and the 15 nHz between two modes. Angular velocity against fractional radius, in nanohertz, from the inversion of hundreds of thousands of measured rotational splittings. Two features had to be discovered rather than deduced. The convection zone rotates differentially in latitude — 473 nanohertz at the equator, 330 at sixty degrees — and that latitude dependence persists all the way down through it, in surfaces that are very nearly radial rather than the cylinders a rotating convective fluid was expected to produce. And below about 0.693 of the radius the latitude dependence stops: the radiative interior turns as a single rigid body at 430 nanohertz, which is a remarkable thing for a fluid with no strength to do, and requires something — most likely a weak internal magnetic field — to be enforcing it. The two regimes are joined by a shear layer a few per cent of the radius thick, the tachocline, and it is where the solar magnetic cycle is generally thought to be generated, because it is the only place in the Sun with the shear a dynamo of that strength needs. The horizontal marks are what individual modes would report: the rotation averaged over the cavity each one occupies, weighted by the time the wave spends at each radius. A mode of degree 100 is trapped near the surface and reports 473 nanohertz; one of degree 1 passes through the deep interior and reports 458. The 15-nanohertz difference between them is the measurement, and splittings are measured to about a nanohertz — which is why the profile can be resolved at all. The kernels used here have the right support and the right sense; a real inversion uses computed eigenfunctions, and its resolution below 0.2 R is poor for the reason the previous figure gives.$ Stars

A fluid that turns as one piece

The Sun's surface turns faster at its equator than at its poles, and everyone expected the inside to do something similar. Below seven-tenths of the way down it does not — the radiative interior rotates as rigidly as a bell, and nothing in hydrodynamics makes a fluid do that.

Gravitation

How much a world gives

A body pulled on from one side deforms, and how much it deforms is a single dimensionless number. That number is three halves for a uniform fluid, three hundredths for the Sun, and two thousandths for a moon made of ice — so measuring it is a measurement of what is inside.

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.

Orbits

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.

$Where each gravity harmonic gets its signal: J₂ from the bulk, J₁₀ from the outer 12 per cent. Why a spacecraft that never enters a planet can say something about its depth. Each zonal harmonic of the external field is an integral over the interior density weighted by r to the power of the degree plus two, and the curves here are those integrals accumulated outward: the fraction of each coefficient that has been contributed by the time the integration reaches a given fractional radius, for an interior of polytropic index 1. The weighting climbs steeply with degree, so the curves separate. Half of J₂ comes from inside 73 per cent of the radius, and half of J₁₀ from inside 88 per cent — the higher coefficients barely know the deep interior exists. That ordering is the whole basis of gravity science as a probe. A single coefficient is one number and constrains almost nothing; a series of them, each weighted differently, is a coarse depth profile, and it is how Jupiter's core turned out to be smeared over half the planet rather than sitting as a distinct sphere at the middle. Two limits are worth stating with it. The information falls off fast: by degree ten the kernel is concentrated in a shell so thin that measuring the coefficient says little about anything below it. And every curve here assumes north–south symmetry, under which the odd harmonics vanish identically — so a measured J₃ or J₅ is not a deeper probe of the same thing but a measurement of something else entirely, which at a giant planet is how fast and how deep the winds run.$ Gravitation

A core weighed by something that never went in

The external gravity field of a planet is a series, and each term of it is an integral over the interior density weighted by a different power of radius. Measure enough terms and the series becomes a coarse depth profile — which is how Jupiter's core turned out to be smeared over half the planet rather than sitting at the middle.

Dissipation against viscosity for Io: a peak at 10^13.5 Pa s, and two solutions at the observed rate. The imaginary part of the Love number — the part that turns tidal work into heat — against the viscosity of the body's interior, for a Maxwell rheology at Io's size, density and forcing period. Both axes are logarithmic and the curve is not monotonic, which is the whole content of the figure. At high viscosity the body is elastic: it stores the energy the tide puts in and gives it back, and dissipates nothing. At low viscosity it is fluid: it deforms all the way and does so in phase with the forcing, and dissipates nothing again. Everything happens in between, at viscosities for which the Maxwell time — viscosity divided by rigidity — is comparable to the orbital period, and the peak here is 0.735 at 10^13.5 pascal seconds. Two consequences follow, and they pull in opposite directions. The peak is an upper limit: a homogeneous body of this size cannot dissipate more than that however its viscosity is chosen, so a measured heat flow above it would refute the model rather than constrain it. And below the peak the observed value is met twice — at 10^11.5 and at 10^15.5 pascal seconds — so a heat flow alone does not say which side of the peak the interior is on. Breaking that degeneracy needs a second observable, and the usual one is the phase of the response rather than its size. The picture treats the body as one homogeneous Maxwell solid, which is certainly wrong for a moon with a molten layer; a partial melt concentrates the dissipation and shifts the peak.

Gravitation

One heat flow, and two viscosities

Io radiates a hundred thousand gigawatts of tidal heat, and that number is supposed to say something about the rock inside it. It does, and not what one would expect — because dissipation vanishes at both extremes of viscosity, the measured heat is produced by two different interiors and cannot choose between them.

An oscillation that does not matter, on a ramp that does. Stored angular momentum in a reaction wheel over 160 days at 550 kilometres, with a capacity of 25 newton metre seconds. The total environmental torque is 1.75e-4 newton metres, of which 35 per cent is taken to survive averaging over an orbit. The fast oscillation is the part that does not survive: it has the 95.6-minute orbital period, reaches 0.10 newton metre seconds, and returns to where it started every revolution, so it consumes capacity and nothing else. The ramp under it is the secular part, and its slope measured between two instants a whole number of orbits apart is 6.117e-5 newton metres, which is the secular torque and is how the figure checks itself. The wheel fills in 4.7 days and has to be emptied 33 times in the span drawn. Every attitude-controlled spacecraft in the collection lives on this sawtooth, and the vertical drops are the only part of it that costs anything: the store can be moved between wheels for nothing, and taken out of the vehicle only by pushing against something outside it.

Spaceflight

The spin that has to be put somewhere

A spacecraft holding an attitude is not resisting a force. It is absorbing a slow, one-directional trickle of angular momentum from the gradient of gravity across its own body, from sunlight, from the last of the atmosphere — and every store it has for that trickle fills up.

The observed sky

A tilt that is not a constant

The Earth's axis leans by 23.4 degrees, and that lean is what makes the seasons. It is also a dynamical variable with its own equilibria, its own resonances and its own chaos — and on Mars the same variable has swung between nearly zero and sixty degrees without anything having to happen.

A torque that stops when the patch lets go. Left, the mechanism: a protogalactic patch drawn as an ellipsoid of axis ratios 1:0.72:0.5, with the principal axes of the surrounding tidal field drawn across it at 30 degrees to its own. The torque is proportional to the difference of the patch's principal moments times the sine of twice that angle, so it is exactly zero when the two sets of axes agree — checked at both alignments — and largest at forty-five degrees. A spherical patch takes no torque whatever the field around it does, which is why the spin of every galaxy begins as a statement about its shape. Right, the angular momentum against time in units of the turnaround time: in linear theory the torque acts on a patch still expanding with the universe and the angular momentum grows as the first power of time, measured off the drawn curve as t^1.000. At turnaround the patch detaches from the expansion, its quadrupole shrinks, and the torque switches off — so a galaxy's spin is fixed before it has collapsed at all, by neighbours it will never interact with again. What the figure cannot show is the sign: the same mechanism gives no preferred direction, and the observed near-absence of alignment between neighbouring galaxies' spins is the check on that.

Cosmology

Spin acquired before there was anything to spin

Every galaxy turns, and nothing in a smooth expanding universe turns. The rotation was applied while the material was still a mildly overdense patch spread across megaparsecs — torqued by the tidal field of its neighbours, growing steadily with time, and switching off the moment the patch stopped expanding.

Orbits

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.

A shear layer that should have spread

The Sun's convection zone turns differentially — its equator laps its poles about once every three months — and the radiative interior below turns as one rigid piece. Between them is a transition four per cent of the radius thick. Nothing in hydrodynamics keeps a velocity discontinuity that thin for four and a half billion years.

Galaxies

An arm that is undone by the work it does

A spiral pattern takes angular momentum from the inner disc and delivers it to the outer, which lets mass move inwards without violating anything. It is paid for in random motion, and a disc with too much random motion cannot carry a wave — so the pattern destroys the conditions it needs to exist.

Exoplanets

A misalignment only cool stars forget

A third of hot Jupiters orbit at a large angle to their star's equator, and some go round backwards. Sort the same planets by the temperature of their host and the picture changes — below about 6,250 kelvin almost all are aligned, and above it almost none are. The boundary is not about the planets.

The observed sky

A wobble that should have stopped

The Earth's rotation pole wanders across its own crust in a circle a few metres wide. A rigid Earth would do it in 305 days; it takes 433, and the difference is a measurement of the planet's elasticity. At the observed damping it should have died out within a human lifetime, and it has not.

A vanishing field that changes the answer completely. The growth rate of the magnetorotational instability against wavenumber, both in units the orbital frequency sets: the vertical axis is the growth rate divided by Ω, the horizontal is the wavenumber multiplied by the Alfvén speed and divided by Ω. The maximum is exactly three quarters of the orbital frequency and it does not depend on the field strength at all — it occurs at kv_A = √15Ω/4, so a weaker field simply moves the fastest-growing wavelength to a longer one. The curve vanishes above kv_A = √3Ω, which is the only thing the field decides: modes shorter than that are stabilised by magnetic tension. An unmagnetised Keplerian disc is Rayleigh-stable and would never accrete; a disc with a field a millionth of the strength needed to matter dynamically grows a mode that doubles in about a fifth of an orbit. The limit is discontinuous, which is the reason this was found late and by algebra rather than early and by observation.

Gravitation

The weakest field changes the answer

A Keplerian disc is stable by every hydrodynamic test there is. Add a magnetic field of any strength whatever — a millionth of what would matter dynamically — and it becomes violently unstable, at a growth rate of three quarters of an orbit per radian that does not depend on the field at all.

Three motions, three decades apart, and that is the point. The three periods of a trapped 1-MeV electron's motion against the shell it is trapped on, on a logarithmic time axis. It gyrates about a field line in 0.22 milliseconds, bounces between its mirror points in 0.33 seconds, and drifts right round the planet in 16 minutes — ratios of 1498 and 3015 at L = 4. Each motion carries a conserved quantity: the magnetic moment, the longitudinal invariant, and the magnetic flux the drift shell encloses. The separation is what makes them conserved. An invariant survives anything that changes slowly compared with its own period, so a disturbance lasting minutes destroys the third and leaves the first two untouched — and a particle that keeps its magnetic moment while being moved inward to a stronger field must gain energy. That is not a loophole; it is how the belts are filled.

Spaceflight

Three clocks and nothing to fall onto

A charged particle in a dipole field gyrates, bounces and drifts, on timescales a millisecond, a second and a quarter of an hour. The three periods are three decades apart, and that separation is not a curiosity — it is the reason each motion has a conserved quantity, and the reason a magnetic storm can accelerate particles rather than merely stir them.

One step of memory, and it is kept at the poles. Two predictors of a solar cycle's amplitude, each tested against the seven cycles for which both quantities exist, with amplitudes scaled so that cycle 21 is one. Left: the polar field measured at the minimum before the cycle begins, which correlates with what follows at r = 1.00. Right: the amplitude of the previous maximum, which correlates at r = 0.34 — that is, not at all. The cycle is therefore not a pendulum with momentum; it is a process with exactly one state variable, and the variable is the poloidal field that the decay of the previous cycle's spots leaves behind at high latitude. That is the observational core of the flux-transport picture: spots emerge tilted, their trailing polarity drifts poleward, and what accumulates there is the seed the next cycle's shear will wind up. It is also the only prediction in solar physics with a lead time of years, and it was what said, correctly and unpopularly, that cycle 24 would be the weakest in a century.

Stars

One step of memory kept at the poles

The amplitude of a solar maximum tells almost nothing about the next one. The polar field measured at the minimum in between tells a great deal — so the cycle is not a pendulum with momentum but a process with exactly one state variable, and the variable is a field of a few gauss at latitudes nobody can see well.

The observed sky

The flare that arrives from somewhere else

The solar wind blows radially outward and the Sun rotates, so the field frozen into the wind is wound into a spiral making forty-five degrees to the radius at the Earth. Energetic particles follow the field rather than the line of sight, which is why the flares that deliver particle storms are the ones on the western limb rather than the ones facing the planet.

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.

Orbits

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.

Orbits

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.

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.

Orbits

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.

Orbits

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.

Orbits

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.

A moment of inertia that is a shape plus an assumption. The Darwin–Radau relation: the polar moment of inertia a body would have, given the ratio of its rotation parameter to its flattening, if it were a hydrostatic fluid. The curve passes through exactly 0.4 at q/f = 0.8, which is the uniform sphere and the one point that needs no interior model, and falls as the body becomes more centrally condensed. Four of the five worlds drawn sit on it within a few per cent of their independently measured moments, which is what makes the relation usable at all. The world that does not appear on the plot is the Moon, whose q/f is 0.025 — far outside the window in which the relation has a real solution, because its shape is a fossil frozen in when it was much closer to its primary and has nothing to do with its present rotation. That failure is the useful one. A relation that returns a wrong answer quietly is dangerous; this one returns no answer at all.

Gravitation

The part of a shape the spin cannot explain

A rotating planet bulges by a predictable amount. Subtract that amount from the shape actually observed and something is usually left over — a few parts in a hundred thousand for the Earth, and ninety-seven per cent of the whole bulge for the Moon. The residue is not an error. It is the only remote measurement of what a planet's interior is doing that does not average over the whole body.

A step size below which a smaller step is worse. The error left in a long integration against the step size, for methods of three different orders, with both contributions drawn. The falling lines are truncation error, whose slope on these axes is exactly the order of the method. The rising line is round-off, identical for all three because it is a property of the arithmetic and not of the algorithm: every operation loses a few bits, the losses are independent, and they accumulate as the square root of the number of steps — which is why its slope is −1/2 and why it rises as the step shrinks. Each method's total has a minimum, at a step of 1.0e-6, 5.0e-6, 9.7e-4 for orders 1, 2, 4. Below that minimum every halving of the step costs time and makes the answer worse. That is the practical reason a solar-system integration is not run at an arbitrarily fine step, and it is a reason with nothing to do with computer time.

Gravitation

An error that grows like a random walk

A long integration accumulates two errors with opposite habits. One falls when the step is made smaller and grows in proportion to the time; the other grows when the step is made smaller and accumulates as a square root. Which of the two dominates decides whether a billion-year integration means anything.

$One measurement, one line, and every point on it is an interior. The Love number against the quality factor, both logarithmic. An orbital measurement — a moon observed to be receding, a spin observed to be slowing — determines only the ratio of the two, so it picks out a diagonal band rather than a point, and every interior along that band reproduces the observation exactly. A body that deforms twice as easily and dissipates half as efficiently is indistinguishable from one that does the opposite. What breaks it is a measurement of the deformation on its own: a spacecraft tracking the body's gravity field through a tidal cycle measures k₂ directly, which is a vertical line here, and the intersection gives Q = 5.36·10⁴. The uncertainty on that answer is the two fractional errors added in quadrature, 20 per cent, and it is dominated by whichever of the two was worse — which for every body in the solar system is the orbital rate rather than the Love number.$ Gravitation

A heat flow that depends on a number nobody can compute

Every tidal rate in astronomy — a moon receding, a spin slowing, an orbit circularising, a satellite melting — is proportional to one combination of two quantities that no orbital measurement can separate. One of them describes how much a body deforms and the other how badly it leaks, and only a spacecraft can tell them apart.

$A star drawn out into 3.0 arcseconds of spectrum. Atmospheric refraction relative to its value at 550 nanometres, against wavelength, at four zenith angles. The air's refractive index rises towards the blue, so the blue image of a star sits above the red one and the object is smeared into a short vertical spectrum. At 60 degrees from the zenith the separation across an optical band is 2.96 arcseconds — several times the size of the image at a good site, and comparable to the width of a spectrograph slit. Every curve here is the same curve multiplied by the tangent of the zenith angle, which is why one corrector with an adjustable strength works at every airmass. The practical consequences are three: a slit aligned other than vertically loses blue light or red light depending on where it was centred, a photometric aperture contains a different fraction of the light in each band, and an astrometric position depends on the colour of the star it is measured from.$ The observed sky

The atmosphere is a prism as well as a lens

Refraction lifts a star towards the zenith, and everybody corrects for that. It lifts blue light further than red, and the difference is a short vertical spectrum a few arcseconds long — larger than the image, larger than a spectrograph's slit, and quietly present in every ground-based measurement not taken straight overhead.

The observed sky

A solar radius measured past a mountain range

The most accurate way to measure the Sun's diameter is to time an eclipse. What is timed is the moment sunlight vanishes behind the Moon's edge — and the Moon's edge is a horizon with mountains on it, so the measurement is a difference between the Sun's limb and a lunar landscape that has to be supplied from somewhere else.

Two longitudes a satellite falls towards, and 0.5 m/s a year to stay elsewhere. The along-track potential a geostationary satellite feels, against longitude. The Earth's equator is slightly elliptical — about seventy metres between its long and short axes — and that one harmonic of the gravity field gives the geostationary ring two minima and two maxima. A satellite left unattended drifts towards the nearer minimum at 75° or 255° east, overshoots, and librates about it with a period of a couple of years. The peak acceleration accumulates 0.5 metres a second of velocity change a year, and an operational east–west budget is a small multiple of that once the correction cycle is accounted for — a fixed cost of every commercial slot in the ring, paid forever. The two minima are the graveyard of the geostationary population: uncontrolled satellites accumulate there, which is why they are the most crowded longitudes in the belt and why an uncontrolled object is most likely to be found near one.

Spaceflight

A satellite that drifts to one of two longitudes

The Earth's equator is elliptical by about seventy metres. That one harmonic of the gravity field gives geostationary orbit a potential with two minima, so an unattended satellite slides towards the nearer one and stays — and every operational slot in the ring is paid for with fuel, every year, forever.

A density that spans a factor of 25 at 400 kilometres. Thermospheric density against altitude, for three levels of solar activity, with the model's own uncertainty band drawn around the middle curve. The extreme ultraviolet output of the Sun heats the upper atmosphere, so the scale height rises with activity and the density at a fixed altitude rises with it — by a factor of 25 at 400 kilometres between solar minimum and maximum. Superposed on that are a diurnal bulge of about a factor of two, semiannual variations, and geomagnetic storms that raise the density by tens of per cent within hours. The best empirical models reproduce past conditions to about 15 per cent, and orbital lifetime is inversely proportional to density, so a re-entry predicted a year ahead carries that error and the far larger one of not knowing what the Sun will do.

Spaceflight

A density model wrong by a factor of two

Everything about a low orbit's future depends on the density of the air at four hundred kilometres, and that density varies by a factor of twenty-five over the solar cycle, by two within a day, and by tens of per cent during a storm nobody predicted. Every model of it is an empirical fit, and re-entry dates are quoted with the honesty that implies.

A patch that throws away 2.5 to 436 metres a second. The velocity error a patched-conic approximation makes at each planet's sphere of influence, on a logarithmic scale, for an approach at 3 kilometres a second. The sphere of influence is where the two ways of writing the problem — planet-centred with the Sun as a perturber, or Sun-centred with the planet as one — become equally bad, and at that radius the neglected solar tide is exactly two times the fifth root of the planet's mass ratio times the planet's own pull. That is drawn beside each planet, it runs from 0.09 to 0.50, and it is not the same for all of them — a factor of 5.6 that the definition does not remove. Because both neglected terms are largest exactly at the surface where the switch is made, the trajectory has a discontinuity in its acceleration and an accumulated velocity error of metres a second. That is negligible for a mission design and enormous for a navigation solution, which is why patched conics are used to find a trajectory and never to fly one: the real trajectory is obtained by numerically integrating the full n-body problem, differentially corrected onto the patched-conic solution as a starting guess.

Spaceflight

The discontinuity a patched conic hides

An interplanetary trajectory is designed as two exact solutions glued along a surface where neither is valid. At that surface both neglected forces are at their largest, so the stitched path has a kink no real trajectory has — and the size of the kink is metres a second, which is a rounding error for a mission design and a catastrophe for a navigation solution.

$Three perturbing masses drawing one curve. Transit-timing residuals for three systems whose perturbing planets are 12, 8, 5 Earth masses — a factor of 2.4 apart — each given the inner-planet eccentricity that the near-resonant theory says will compensate: 0.0000, 0.0166, 0.0363. The three curves have amplitudes of 1.7, 1.7, 1.7 minutes, within 0 per cent of each other, and they are drawn by three separate integrations that were told nothing about the theory used to pick the eccentricities. The eccentricity enters the near-resonant term divided by Δ, the fractional distance from exact resonance — here 0.0267 — so a hundredth of an eccentricity does the work of a factor of two in mass. This is why a transit-timing mass is not a mass until something else fixes the eccentricity, and why the masses that came out of the first years of such fits were systematically lower than the radial-velocity masses of the same planets.$ Exoplanets

A mass that is only a mass once the eccentricity is known

The near-resonant part of a transit-timing signal carries the perturber's mass and the pair's free eccentricity in the same bracket, divided by the distance from resonance. A hundredth of an eccentricity therefore does the work of a factor of two in mass, and three quite different systems draw one curve.

Galaxies

A hole that says mass times time

A gap in a stellar stream is the strongest evidence available that dark subhaloes exist, and its depth depends on the perturber's mass, the impact parameter and the elapsed time only through one combination. Two of those three are unobservable, so a gap is a measurement of a product.

Gravitation

The part of a kick that heats nothing

Most of the impulse a passing mass delivers to a star cluster is delivered equally to every star in it, so the cluster moves and nothing inside it changes. What heats it is the difference across it — one power of the impact parameter smaller, squared in the energy — and that one distinction decides which encounters matter and which cannot.

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.

Orbits

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.

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

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.

Why the Moon holds the tilt still. Spin-axis precession rate against obliquity, with the solar system's own secular frequencies drawn across it. The rising-and-falling curves are α cos ε for three precession constants: the Earth as it is, with the Moon supplying about two thirds of the torque; and a Moonless Earth at two plausible rotation rates. The horizontal lines are the nodal eigenfrequencies of the planetary secular system — s₆, s₃, s₄, s₂, s₁, s₇, s₈ — which are the rates at which the Earth's own orbit plane wobbles. A crossing is a resonance: the axis is precessing about a plane that is itself turning at the same rate, the resonant angle stops circulating, and the obliquity librates instead of holding still. The present Earth precesses at 50.3 arcseconds a year, faster than every secular frequency in the list, and its nearest crossing is at 61.3°, which is 37.8 degrees from the obliquity drawn. Take the Moon away and α falls by a factor of three; the crossings come down with it, 3 of them land below 85°, and where several overlap the obliquity has no stable value at all. The Moon does not hold the axis by pulling on it. It holds it by making the precession too fast to resonate with anything.

The observed sky

A tilt held still by being too fast to resonate

The Moon does not hold the Earth's axis by pulling on it. It triples the rate at which the axis precesses, which lifts that rate clear of every frequency at which the Earth's own orbit plane wobbles — and a precession with nothing to resonate with cannot wander.

A factor of 100 in the wind, 8 degrees in the aurora. The latitude of the last closed field line against the solar wind's dynamic pressure, for a dipole of 0.31 gauss at the equator. The chain is short and every link is exact. Pressure balance puts the magnetopause at a distance going as the sixth root of the field pressure over the ram pressure; a dipole line reaching equatorial distance L returns to the surface at colatitude arcsin(1/√L); so the polar cap's edge is that, and the aurora sits just equatorward of it on the outermost closed lines. Across the 100-fold range of pressure drawn — which covers everything from a quiet wind to a severe storm — the magnetopause moves from 13.1 to 6.1 planetary radii and the oval from 74.0 to 66.1 degrees. The shaded band is where the oval is actually observed. The open magnetic flux is exactly the reciprocal of the standoff distance, so it rises by a factor of 2.15 over the same range — which is the quantity that actually matters for a storm, and it is the only one of the three that changes by much.

The observed sky

An aurora that is a sixth root inside an arcsine

The magnetopause distance fixes which field lines are open, the open ones map to a cap around each pole, and the cap's edge is where the aurora is. A hundredfold change in the solar wind moves that edge by eight degrees — and across planets whose fields differ by four orders of magnitude it moves by ten.

Spaceflight

The fragments nobody can see and cannot shield against

A catastrophic collision in low orbit makes about a thousand pieces big enough to track and sixty thousand big enough to destroy a spacecraft. The catalogue is under two per cent of the hazard, the gap is not one better radars will close, and the fragments' lifetimes span a factor of twenty-five within a single event.

Stars

Three clocks and a runaway

Whether mass transfer between two stars is stable is a comparison of two logarithmic derivatives. How fast it runs is a separate question with three possible answers fourteen orders of magnitude apart — and the answer decides whether the companion accretes, is buried, or is swallowed.

$Where the 9.4 km/s should be divided between two unequal stages. Overall payload fraction against the share of the 9.4 km/s given to the first stage, for a vehicle whose two stages are not alike: kerosene and oxygen, first stage at ε = 0.06 and I_sp 300 s, so vₑ = 2.942 km/s; hydrogen and oxygen, second stage at ε = 0.09 and I_sp 450 s, so vₑ = 4.413 km/s. The curve falls to zero at both ends, because a stage asked for too much Δv has a negative payload fraction and the vehicle does not close. The maximum is at 26.8 per cent — 2.52 km/s in the first stage and 6.88 in the second — and it delivers 5.130 per cent of the lift-off mass as payload against 4.240 per cent for an equal division. The gain from optimising is 21.0 per cent of the payload — worth having on a vehicle whose payload is five per cent of its mass, and small next to the difference the second stage's exhaust speed makes. What the shape says is more useful than where the peak is: moving ten points either side of the optimum still delivers 4.905 per cent, so the penalty for getting the split wrong is 4.4 per cent of the payload. A penalty that small is why launch vehicles are staged on structural and operational grounds — where the tank domes go, which engines exist, what can be transported by road — and the calculus is run afterwards to check that nothing has been left on the table. Note also which way the optimum leans: the better stage is the second, and it is given more of the work, because a share of Δv bought at a higher exhaust speed costs less mass.$ Spaceflight

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.

Exhaust speed against the molecular weight of the exhaust. The ideal exhaust speed of a converging–diverging nozzle, √(2γ/(γ−1) · R_uT_c/M · [1 − (p_e/p_c)^((γ−1)/γ)]), against the mean molar mass of the exhaust, at three chamber temperatures — 2200, 3000, 3600 K — with γ = 1.2 and an expansion to 1 per cent of chamber pressure. Every choice a propellant makes enters through two symbols, and the speed goes as the square root of their ratio: four times the chamber temperature doubles it, and a quarter of the molar mass doubles it too. That symmetry is the point. A cooler flame with a lighter exhaust beats a hotter one with a heavier, and the marked combinations show it — hydrogen + oxygen at M = 10, T_c = 3500 K, 441 s; methane + oxygen at M = 20.5, T_c = 3550 K, 310 s; kerosene + oxygen at M = 23, T_c = 3670 K, 298 s. The hottest flame drawn belongs to kerosene + oxygen and the fastest exhaust to hydrogen + oxygen, which are not the same entry. Hydrogen's advantage is not that it burns hot; it burns slightly cooler than kerosene. Its advantage is that the mixture is run fuel-rich on purpose, so the exhaust carries unburnt hydrogen and its mean molar mass falls to about 10 rather than water's 18 — buying more in the denominator than it loses in the numerator.

Spaceflight

Choosing a propellant is choosing a molecular weight

An exhaust speed is the square root of a chamber temperature divided by a molecular weight, so a cooler flame with a lighter exhaust beats a hotter one with a heavier. Hydrogen wins the rocket equation and loses the tank, and the two cannot be optimised separately.

Where the missing kilometres a second go. The two losses along a gravity-turn ascent, against the vehicle's thrust-to-weight ratio at lift-off, from an integration of the trajectory rather than from a table. Every run spends the same 9400 m/s of ideal Δv and every one is flown as the same manoeuvre: one pitch kick, solved by bisection so that the vehicle is horizontal at burnout, and thereafter zero angle of attack so that gravity alone turns it — which makes the steering loss identically zero and the comparison a fair one. What differs is how much of the Δv survives as speed. The gravity loss is ∫g sin γ dt, the part of the thrust spent holding the vehicle up rather than accelerating it, and it falls as the thrust rises because a vehicle that leaves quickly spends less time doing it: 1263 m/s at T/W = 1.15 against 381 at 2.2. The drag loss is ∫(D/m) dt and it rises, because the same haste means reaching high speed lower down where the air is: 119 m/s against 1874. The sum is least at T/W ≈ 1.5, at 1198 m/s, and the minimum is shallow — which is why real vehicles cluster between 1.2 and 1.5 and none of them is there because of this curve. At the marked 1.5 the 9400 m/s of ideal Δv leaves the vehicle at 8202 m/s and 42 km, against a circular speed of 7884 m/s there, so the 1198 m/s of loss is the whole of the answer to why orbit costs about 9.4 km/s when orbital speed is under 7.9.

Spaceflight

Orbit costs 7.8 and a launch buys 9.4

The gap between orbital speed and the velocity change a launcher spends is not overhead. It is three integrals along the ascent, only one of which can be reduced by flying better, and the two that can be traded move in opposite directions.

$The best split of a plane change between perigee and apogee, for three turns. How much is saved by moving part of the plane change into the perigee burn, against how much is moved, for turns of 15°, 28.5°, 51.6°. Doing the whole rotation at apogee is the standard answer and it is not the cheapest one: at perigee the turn is bought as a small correction to a burn that is happening anyway, so the first fraction of a degree is nearly free while the apogee saving is linear. Each curve therefore rises to an interior maximum — 10 m/s at 1.35° for a 15° turn, 25 m/s at 2.23° for a 28.5° turn, 40 m/s at 2.88° for a 51.6° turn — and falls back through zero at about twice that split. The saving is small against a 4.78 km/s budget, and it is free.$ Spaceflight

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.

Rotating an orbit by flying away from it first. Total Δv against the angle turned, in units of the circular speed of the starting orbit, for two ways of rotating an orbital plane at a fixed radius. The single combined burn does everything at once and costs √(v₁² + v₂² − 2v₁v₂cos Δi); the three-burn route raises the apoapsis to 200 starting radii, turns there where the speed is only 0.7 per cent of what it was, and comes back down. Below 48.9° the single burn is cheaper and the two extra burns are not worth paying for. Above it the three-burn route wins, and it wins by more the larger the angle: at 90° it costs 0.8314 against 1.4142, a saving of 41 per cent. The mechanism is the one thing worth carrying away. A plane change costs 2v sin(Δi/2) and is therefore proportional to the speed at which it is done, so the cheapest place to turn is the slowest place available — and a vehicle can make a slow place by climbing, at a cost that does not grow with the angle while the rotation's cost does. That is why the crossover is an angle rather than a distance, and why it exists at all. What the figure does not price is time: the round trip to 200 starting radii takes 2015 times the period of the starting orbit, which for a low Earth orbit is months.

Spaceflight

Flying further away in order to turn

A plane change costs the speed at which it is done, so the cheapest place to turn is the slowest place available — and a vehicle can make a slow place by climbing. Above about thirty-nine degrees the round trip pays for itself, and the crossover is an angle rather than a distance.

A light curve pulled out of shape by the Earth's own orbit. Magnification against time for a 90-day event at impact parameter 0.3, computed with the observer's orbital motion included at three values of the microlens parallax. The dashed curve is π_E = 0 and is exactly symmetric in time, because a straight-line track past a point lens has to be. The others are not. The Earth's displacement over the months the event lasts adds a term π_E times its projected orbital motion to the lens–source trajectory, so one wing is pushed closer to the lens and the other further away, and the curve acquires an asymmetry of 16 per cent at π_E = 0.15 and 34 per cent at π_E = 0.35. That asymmetry is the whole measurement. An ordinary event gives one dimensioned number, t_E, which mixes the lens mass with two distances and a proper motion and therefore weighs nothing; the parallax gives a second, and two constraints on the same lens are what a mass requires. It is only available on long events — the Earth has to move appreciably while the magnification is changing — which is why parallaxes are measured for the timescales above about fifty days and not for the short ones that a low-mass lens produces.

Exoplanets

An asymmetry that the Earth's own orbit puts in

A microlensing event delivers one number with dimensions, and one is not enough to weigh anything. The Earth's motion over a long event distorts the light curve, and the distortion is the second constraint — after which the mass follows with no distance in it at all.

The extreme sunset and sunrise, neither of them on the December solstice. Sunset and sunrise in local mean solar time through the ninety days around the December solstice, at latitude 52°, computed from Kepler's equation and the tilt. Each is the solar noon — which is 12:00 minus the equation of time — plus or minus half the day arc, and the two ingredients have different stationary points. The day length is stationary at the solstice, exactly, because the declination is. The equation of time is not: it is changing at about 0.50 minutes a day there, moving solar noon steadily. So the sum is still changing after the day length has stopped, and the earliest sunset comes on 14 Dec — 9 days before the solstice on 23 Dec — while the latest sunrise comes on 31 Dec, 9 days after it. The shortest day is the solstice, and neither of its ends is extreme there. Nothing in this is an approximation or a correction: it is a sum of two functions with different stationary points, and the stationary point of a sum is not the stationary point of either.

The observed sky

The earliest sunset is not the shortest day

A sunset time is solar noon plus half the day length, and the two have different stationary points. The day length stops shortening at the solstice; the equation of time does not stop moving, so the sum keeps falling — and the earliest sunset comes days before the shortest day.

The figure of eight a geosynchronous orbit draws at 5°, 15°, 30° of inclination. The ground track over one sidereal day of a circular orbit whose period is exactly a sidereal day, at inclinations of 5, 15, 30°, centred on its own mean longitude. It is not a point. The latitude swings to ±i and back twice a day, and the longitude falls behind and then runs ahead of the Earth's rotation, because the rate at which an inclined orbit gains longitude is u̇ cos i / cos²φ: slowest at the nodes, where part of the motion is north–south, and fastest at the extremes of latitude, where all of it is eastward and a degree of longitude is shorter — so the track closes as a figure of eight. Its half-width in longitude is ±0.109° at 5°, ±0.993° at 15°, ±4.117° at 30° — exactly arcsin(tan²(i/2)) — against the small-inclination form i²/4 = ±0.109°, ±0.982°, ±3.927°: quadratic in the inclination, so the eight is tall and very thin. The longitude axis is stretched 8 times relative to the latitude axis, and without that stretch every one of these curves would be drawn as a vertical line. This is why a few degrees of inclination, which a geostationary operator spends most of its propellant preventing, moves the satellite a long way north and south and almost not at all east and west.

Spaceflight

A stationary satellite that draws a figure of eight

A satellite with a period of exactly one sidereal day returns over the same ground every day, but only an orbit in the equator with no eccentricity returns over a single point. A few degrees of tilt draw a figure of eight, a little eccentricity a swing in longitude, and the two together draw the figure the Sun draws in the sky over a year.

The observed sky

A clock whose zero is moving

Sidereal time is counted from the equinox, and the equinox does not stay put. Its steady drift makes the sidereal day eight milliseconds short, its acceleration puts a quadratic term into the formula for sidereal time, and the Moon makes it nod by a second every nineteen years. The Earth rotation angle removes all three by counting from a point defined not to move along the equator.

Exoplanets

The envelope that doubles a planet lasts longest

The gap in the radii of small planets is not merely a place where planets are rare — it is nearly empty, and the reason is a peak. The time a young star needs to strip a planet's hydrogen is longest for the envelope that swells the planet to a little over twice its core's size. Anything thinner runs away to nothing, and anything thicker settles back towards the peak.

The expansion rate and the acceleration, and which of them reaches inside an orbit. Two quantities per unit distance through cosmic time, both in units of today's H₀². The square of the expansion rate, H², falls steeply from the big bang and is 1.00 today by definition. The acceleration of the expansion, ä/a, is the sum of a matter-and-radiation part, −Ωₘ/(2a³) − Ωᵣ/a⁴, drawn dashed, and the cosmological constant's part, ΩΛ = 0.685, which is the same at every time. The sum was negative — the expansion decelerating — until the universe was 7.7 Gyr old, at a = 0.614 or redshift 0.63, and is 0.527 today. The equation of motion of anything orbiting inside a bound system carries ä/a and never H: the rate at which distant galaxies recede does not appear in it at all. Of ä/a, the matter part is the mean density of the universe, which inside a galaxy or a planetary system is already counted in the mass that is doing the holding, many million times over. What is left is the constant: a fixed outward acceleration per unit distance, ΩΛ H₀², that does not grow with time and does not care how fast the universe is expanding.

Cosmology

An orbit feels the acceleration and never the rate

If space expands, it is natural to ask why the Earth's orbit does not. The answer is not that gravity resists the stretching. It is that the expansion rate never appears in the equation of motion of a bound orbit at all — only the acceleration does, and of that only the cosmological constant's part survives, as a fixed outward push that moves the Earth's orbit once, by twelve picometres, and never again.

Galaxies

The debris that returns fastest lights up last

The debris of a star torn apart by a light black hole comes back within two weeks, in greater excess of what the hole can swallow than for any heavier hole. It should make the promptest flare, and it may make the slowest — because to shine, the returning stream has to crash into itself, and where it does so is decided by how far relativity swings its orbit round. Round a light hole the swing is a few degrees, and the streams meet only near the far end of their orbit, moving slowly.

Galaxies

The stars a black hole eats come from a narrow band

A star is torn apart only if its orbit happens to point almost exactly at the hole — within a millionth of the possible directions of its angular momentum. Stars on those orbits are gone within one orbit, and the only way new ones arrive is by the slow random walk of encounters with other stars. Close to the hole that walk is too slow; far from it the orbits take too long; and most of the stars a hole destroys come from a narrow band between.

The colour of the zenith at twilight, with and without ozone. The colour of the zenith sky relative to sunlight — the 450 nm brightness against the 650 nm brightness, in magnitudes, bluer upward — against the Sun's depression, computed by single scattering with a 300 Dobson-unit ozone layer and again with none. Scattering alone favours blue by λ⁻⁴, which would make the sky 1.60 magnitudes bluer than sunlight if nothing were removed on the way; that is the dotted line. But after sunset every ray has travelled a long grazing path, and Rayleigh scattering removes blue from that path faster than red, so the two effects fight. Without ozone they very nearly cancel: the zenith is 0.01 magnitudes from sunlight's own colour at sunset and 0.06 at 6° — a pale, colourless sky — and only turns bluer, −0.13 at 10°, once the lit layer has climbed above most of the air the grazing ray used to cross. With ozone the zenith is −0.34 at sunset, −0.67 at 6° and −0.76 at 10°: bluer than without by 0.72 magnitudes at 6°, because the grazing ray also crosses the ozone layer near its tangent point, and ozone's Chappuis band absorbs orange and red rather than blue. The ozone cross-sections are approximate, and the conclusion does not depend on them to better than a factor of two.

The observed sky

Ozone keeps the twilight zenith blue

After sunset the sky overhead turns a deep blue, and scattering alone cannot explain it. The light that reaches the zenith has first grazed hundreds of kilometres of air, which strips blue out of the sunlight as fast as scattering puts it back, and the two very nearly cancel. What tips the balance is a gas that makes up a few parts in ten million of the atmosphere and absorbs the orange and red end of the spectrum.

Exoplanets

The stripping runs ahead of the starlight that drives it

If young stars carve the radius valley with their X-ray light, the valley should be finished early — half of it before the star has delivered a third of that light, and nine tenths of it within a few hundred million years. If the planets' own cooling cores carve it instead, planets should still be crossing it billions of years later. The two accounts put the valley in the same place, and they are separated by the one thing a histogram cannot show — when.

Exoplanets

A smaller star puts the valley lower

Round stars of half the Sun's mass, the gap between bare rocky cores and sub-Neptunes should sit at a smaller radius than round the Sun, because at the same orbital period their planets receive a tenth of the light. Their stars also stay young and active far longer, which pushes the other way. Photoevaporation weighs those two against each other in a definite proportion, and the answer is a valley that scales as the star's mass to about the power three tenths.

The XUV energy that reached one astronomical unit, for three young Suns. The cumulative X-ray and extreme-ultraviolet energy delivered per square metre at the Earth's distance from the Sun, against age, for three histories that differ only in how long the young Sun stayed magnetically saturated: 20 Myr for a slow rotator, 100 Myr for a medium rotator, 300 Myr for a fast rotator. After saturation each declines to a common track by 1 Gyr, as rotation histories are observed to converge. By 4.5 Gyr the totals are 2.06·10¹⁵ J/m² for the slow rotator, 3.66·10¹⁵ J/m² for the medium rotator, 6.47·10¹⁵ J/m² for the fast rotator: the fast rotator delivered 3.1 times as much as the slow rotator, nearly all of it in the first few hundred million years. The Sun's own rotation at that age is not measured; it is inferred from the spread of rotation periods in young clusters, and all three histories are consistent with a Sun that ends up rotating as it does now.

Exoplanets

The young Sun's spin decides what the Earth kept

The calculation that strips sub-Neptunes applies just as well to a planet with a trace of hydrogen. An Earth that captured a few hundredths of a per cent of its mass from the gas it formed in — several times the hydrogen now in its oceans — would have lost all of it, or kept most of it, depending on something nobody has measured — how fast the Sun was spinning in its first few hundred million years.

m²φ²: where the observed scales left, and where inflation ends. The m²φ² potential, drawn as a shape with its height divided out, against the field in reduced Planck masses. The field rolls downhill towards zero and inflation ends where the slow-roll parameter ε reaches one, at φ = 1.41. The shaded band is the stretch of field the scales now seen on the sky left the Hubble radius from: 60 e-folds before the end at φ = 15.56 and 50 before it at φ = 14.21. Nothing about the sky depends on the rest of the curve. Across that band the two numbers the tilt is made of are ε = 9.01e-3 and η = 0.0090, which give a spectral index of 0.9640 and a tensor-to-scalar ratio of 0.1441 at 55 e-folds. The height is not in either: it is fixed separately by the amplitude of the fluctuations, which puts the potential at (2.0 × 10¹⁶ GeV)⁴ there — and multiplying the whole curve by any constant leaves the band, the tilt and the ratio exactly where they are, because every slow-roll quantity is a ratio of the potential to its own derivatives. The field travels 13.49 Planck masses from the middle of the band to the end.

Cosmology

The tilt knows the slope and not the height

The measured spectral index, 0.965, is quoted as the strongest evidence for inflation, and it is a statement about two dimensionless numbers — how steeply the potential fell and how sharply that slope was changing, over the few e-folds the sky can see. The height of the potential is not in it at all, which is why potentials that look nothing alike reproduce it.

Starobinsky: e-folds before the end, against how reheating went. N, the number of e-folds between the pivot scale leaving the Hubble radius and the end of inflation, for the Starobinsky potential, against the temperature at which reheating finished, for 3 equations of state during it. All the lines meet on the right at instant reheating, 2.6 × 10¹⁵ GeV, where N = 55.6. The left edge is 5 MeV, below which nucleosynthesis would not have happened. w = 0, oscillating field: 42.0 at 5 MeV; w = ⅓, like radiation: 55.6 at 5 MeV; w = 1, kination: 69.0 at 5 MeV. The reason is how far the universe stretches while the energy density falls: an oscillating field dilutes like matter, as a⁻³, so for the same fall in density it expands further than radiation would, more of the growth of today's scales happens after inflation, and fewer e-folds of inflation are needed to put them where they are. A stiff epoch with w = 1 dilutes as a⁻⁶, stretches less, and needs more. A radiation-like epoch changes nothing. None of this epoch has been observed; the lines are the arithmetic of energy and entropy, and the spread between them is how much an unobserved history moves a quantity the spectral index depends on.

Cosmology

The epoch nobody saw moves the tilt

Between the end of inflation and the hot universe that made the light elements lies an interval nothing has observed, in which the energy of the inflaton became radiation. How long that took changes how many e-folds before the end the observed scales left — by as many as fourteen — and that moves every model's predicted spectral index by more than the measurement's uncertainty. A potential is never tested by the tilt alone; a potential and a reheating history are tested together.

One sky with and without a local non-Gaussianity of fNL·σ = 0.3. The same scale-invariant random field drawn twice, from one seed: on the left as it is, Gaussian, and on the right after the local transformation Φ → Φ + fNL(Φ² − ⟨Φ²⟩) with fNL·σ = 0.3. Solid contours are one and two standard deviations above the mean, dashed ones below, and each map is measured against its own mean and spread. The transformation adds to every value in proportion to its square, so peaks are pushed up and troughs are pulled back towards the mean: the area above +2σ goes from 1.8 to 4.7 per cent of the map and the area below −2σ from 2.4 to 0.0, and the skewness of the values rises from −0.073 to 1.484. This is exaggerated by a factor of about 2200. The primordial potential varies by about 3 × 10⁻⁵, so even fNL = 5 — the size of the current uncertainty — makes fNL·σ about 10⁻⁴.

Cosmology

A test that can only fail one way

Single-field inflation predicts a local non-Gaussianity of 0.015, a skewness in the primordial potential of a few parts in a million. The measurement is −0.9 ± 5.1. A detection at the level of one would eliminate every model with a single clock at once; a null result at any reachable precision confirms nothing, because the prediction lies below anything the sky has enough independent modes to measure.

An ephemeris fitted to 120 days, 43 minutes wrong within a year against a band of ±5.1. Transit times of a 6 Earth-mass planet on a 10-day orbit, perturbed by a 14 Earth-mass planet at 15.24 days, integrated for 1460 days and compared with a straight-line ephemeris fitted only to the transits in the first 120 days — the shaded window. Inside the window the line fits to 2.1 minutes. Outside it the pair's 317-day super-period carries the transits away from the line, and within a year of the window closing the prediction is 42.8 minutes early of the observed transit, 347 days after the last fitted one. The narrow band is the formal three-sigma uncertainty of the same line for a timing precision of 0.5 minutes per transit, which at that date is ±5.1 minutes: the error is 8.4 times the band. A statistical uncertainty assumes the residuals are noise, and these are a signal, so the band describes a planet that does not exist.

Exoplanets

A forecast that fails on a schedule

A transiting planet perturbed near a resonance keeps a clock that wanders, and a straight-line ephemeris fitted to part of the wander predicts the next transit with a confidence the wander does not deserve. The error is not noise and does not average down; it grows on the pair's super-period, it is many times the formal uncertainty within a year, and how soon it appears depends on which stretch of the wander happened to be observed. When a model that includes the known perturber still fails, the failure has a period, and the period is a planet.

Exoplanets

One timing curve and five planets that could draw it

A transiting planet whose times wander at a 58-day period, by just over a minute, is being pulled by something — but the period says only how far from some resonance the pull comes, not from which. Perturbers inside and outside the orbit, near four different commensurabilities, each with its own mass, reproduce the same curve to a fraction of a per cent. Timing alone returns a list, and even the detail that shortens it hides a coincidence of its own.

The path of a spin across the sphere of fixed momentum. A body with principal moments 1, 8, 8.6, started about its axis of least inertia with a 3° wobble and an internal energy sink strong enough that the whole motion fits in 80 turns and each circuit of the path can be seen. The disc is the near hemisphere of the sphere of fixed angular momentum, seen from a direction between all three body axes, with the near end of each axis marked. Each thin curve is a contour of kinetic energy on that sphere — a polhode, one of the paths the angular momentum can follow in the body with no dissipation — and the thick curve is the separatrix through the intermediate axis, which divides motions that circle the axis of least inertia from motions that circle the axis of greatest. The coloured path is what the integration did: solid on the near hemisphere, dashed where it passes behind. It starts at the open dot and ends at the filled one.

Spaceflight

A spin that left the axis it was given

The first American satellite was spun about its long axis, like a rifle bullet, and soon after launch it was tumbling end over end. Nothing outside it had pushed. A body that cannot change its angular momentum but can lose energy has exactly one place to end up, and a long body spun about its length is as far from that place as a spin can be.

$A spin about the middle axis of a 1:2:3 body, turning over every 2.9 turns. A body with principal moments of inertia 1, 2, 3, spun about its intermediate axis with a hundredth of its angular momentum knocked onto the axis of least inertia, integrated with no dissipation and no external torque. The curves are the components of the angular momentum along the three body axes, as fractions of its fixed size. The intermediate component stays near one for 1.5 spin periods, then swings through zero to minus one — the body turns over, end for end — and keeps doing so every 2.9 periods, 14 times in the span drawn. Energy and angular momentum are both conserved throughout, the energy to better than one part in a billion; nothing is being lost and nothing drives the flips. A spin about the intermediate axis is an equilibrium like a pencil balanced on its point, and the smallest disturbance grows exponentially, here by a factor of e every 0.28 spin periods, until it carries the body to the opposite equilibrium and back.$ Spaceflight

A wingnut that turns over on its own

Spin a rigid body about the axis whose moment of inertia is neither the largest nor the smallest and it turns end over end, again and again, with nothing pushing it and nothing lost. The flip was noticed aboard a space station in 1985 and was already implicit in equations written in 1765. How long it waits is a logarithm, and no care in setting up the spin can make the logarithm infinite.

Where the gradient of gravity holds a spacecraft still. The plane of the two inertia ratios that decide whether a spacecraft pointing at the Earth is held there by the gravity gradient: k₁ — the pitch moment of inertia less the yaw moment, divided by the roll moment — across, and k₃ — the pitch moment less the roll moment, divided by the yaw moment — up, with roll along the velocity, pitch normal to the orbit and yaw towards the Earth. Shaded points satisfy all three conditions of the linear theory — pitch is stable when k₁ > k₃, and roll and yaw together when k₁k₃ > 0 and 1 + 3k₁ + k₁k₃ > 4√(k₁k₃). The large region at upper right, 12.4 per cent of the square, is the one in which the pitch moment is the largest and the yaw moment the smallest, the arrangement of a long boom hanging towards the Earth. The small region just left of the vertical axis and below the horizontal one, 2.0 per cent, is a second, narrow island of stability with the moments in a different order, found by DeBra and Delp in 1961. There the orientation is a maximum of the potential in roll and yaw rather than a minimum, held only by the gyroscopic coupling of the two, and a damper — the very thing the long-boom region needs — destroys it: with damping of 0.05 of the orbital rate, a swing of a hundredth of a radian at (−0.10, −0.21) grows to a full radian within 11 orbits, while the same swing on the long boom shrinks 435-fold in 40. A boom along the vertical, pitch moment largest sits at (0.97, 0.40) and is stable; the same boom with roll and pitch moments swapped sits at (0.93, −0.40) and is unstable: the same boom, with two nearly equal moments exchanged, crosses from one side of an axis to the other.

Spaceflight

A boom held upright by a difference in gravity

A long spacecraft in orbit is pulled into line with the vertical for nothing — its near end feels slightly more gravity than its far end, and the difference is a torque. The torque restores and never dissipates, so the vehicle swings like a pendulum whose clock is the orbit. Whether it is held at all comes down to three inequalities between its moments of inertia, and one region that satisfies all three is destroyed by the damper every such spacecraft needs.

A tumble removed with a coil and a compass, at 500 km. The rotation rate of a small spacecraft — principal moments 0.0067, 0.041, 0.043 kg m², the proportions of a three-unit cubesat — tumbling at 8.8° a second after release, against orbits at 500 km, with nothing to control it but magnetic coils driven by the B-dot law: a dipole opposite to the rate of change of the field measured aboard, capped at 0.2 A m². The field is a dipole tilted 9.2° from the Earth's axis and turning with the Earth. In a polar, 97.4°, orbit the rate settles at 0.12° a second over the last orbit drawn, passing 1° a second after 0.58 orbits; in a 51.6° orbit the rate settles at 0.12° a second over the last orbit drawn, passing 1° a second after 0.32 orbits; in an equatorial orbit the rate settles at 2.44° a second over the last orbit drawn. The law needs no knowledge of the spacecraft's attitude: a tumbling body sees the Earth's field swing round in its own frame, and a dipole opposing that swing produces a torque that removes the part of the spin perpendicular to the field. The polar orbit does not reach zero. It settles at 0.94 of twice the orbital rate, 0.13° a second, and twice the orbital rate is how fast the field direction itself turns round a polar orbit: a body turning with the field sees little change to oppose. An equatorial orbit keeps the field pointing nearly the same way all the way round, so the spin about it is reached only through the dipole's tilt and the Earth's turning, and 28 per cent of the starting rate is still there at the end.

Spaceflight

A tumble stopped by the field it tumbles through

A small satellite leaves its deployer tumbling, and the first thing most of them do is stop, using nothing but a magnetometer and three coils. The law they run needs no idea where the satellite is pointing. What it cannot do, at any instant, is touch the spin about the local field line — so how much tumble survives is decided by how much the field's direction changes along the orbit, and the stillness it reaches is defined by the field rather than by the stars.

Orbits

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.

Orbits

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.

Starlight

The continuum is made by one atom in ten thousand

The Sun's light leaves through an ion that exists only because a hydrogen atom will hold a second electron by three-quarters of an electronvolt. The electrons it holds come almost entirely from magnesium, silicon and iron — so the level against which every solar line depth is measured is rationed by elements present at one part in ten thousand.

The one number a cloud cannot change by squeezing. The mass-to-flux ratio in units of its critical value, against column density, for clouds threaded by fields of 3, 10, 30, 100 microgauss. λ below one is subcritical, and the field alone holds the cloud up, and no amount of compression changes that, because squeezing raises the magnetic and the gravitational energy at the same rate and leaves their ratio exactly where it was. λ above one is supercritical and the field is irrelevant to whether the cloud collapses. Each line has slope exactly one because λ is proportional to the column density at fixed field, and each crosses the boundary at 3.9·10²⁰ cm⁻² for 3 µG, 1.3·10²¹ cm⁻² for 10 µG, 3.9·10²¹ cm⁻² for 30 µG, 1.3·10²² cm⁻² for 100 µG. The Jeans mass is a threshold a cloud can cross by contracting; this one is a label it is born with, and the only way past it is to let the field leak out.

Galaxies

Support that cannot be squeezed away

A cloud held up by pressure can always be defeated by compressing it, because gravity gains faster than heat does. A cloud held up by a magnetic field cannot — squeezing raises both energies at exactly the same rate, so the ratio a cloud is born with is the one it keeps, and the only way out is to let the field leak.

Turbulence stops being supersonic at 0.04 parsecs. The velocity dispersion of molecular gas against the size of the region it is measured over, from σ = 1 (R/pc)^0.5 km/s, with the isothermal sound speed of 10 K gas drawn flat beneath it. The two cross at 0.035 parsecs, which is solved for here rather than quoted: below that scale the motions are subsonic and the gas is supported by its own pressure, above it they are supersonic and nothing thermal is relevant. At ten parsecs the Mach number is 17 and at a hundredth of a parsec it is 0.53. The crossing is the scale at which turbulent support runs out, and it is within a factor of two of the size of the dense cores that actually form stars — which is either the most important coincidence in the subject or the reason cores are the size they are.

Galaxies

The support and the seed are the same motions

A molecular cloud's lines are ten times wider than its temperature allows, and the width grows with the size of the region measured. The motions that widen them hold the cloud up as a whole and make the dense lumps inside it — so the same turbulence that delays star formation is what decides where it happens.

What Io dissipates depends on how fast the tide is applied. The dissipative part of the Love number, −Im k₂, against the period of the forcing, for Io at an interior viscosity of 1e+16 Pa s. Two rheologies are drawn: a Maxwell solid, a spring and a dashpot in series, and an Andrade solid, which adds the anelastic creep every real material shows in the laboratory and a Maxwell body does not, with an exponent of 0.3. They agree for tides slower than the Maxwell time of 1.9 days, where the body has time to flow and the transient is irrelevant. They part completely for faster ones: at the shortest period drawn the Andrade body dissipates 20 times what the Maxwell body does. A quality factor quoted without a period is half a number, and which half is missing depends on a rheology measured in a laboratory rather than derived.

Gravitation

A quality factor quoted without a period is half a number

The tidal response of a solid body is not a constant. It is a function of how fast the tide is applied, and two rheologies that agree perfectly about a slow tide disagree by orders of magnitude about a quick one — so the same moon has one Love number at its orbital period and a different one at the period of its own libration.

$A mass measured by the structure it prevents. The fractional suppression of the small-scale matter power spectrum against the sum of the neutrino masses. The relic density follows from the thermal history with no astrophysics in it — the neutrinos’ share of the critical density, times h², is the mass sum divided by 93.14 eV exactly — and the suppression is about eight times the neutrinos' share of the matter, because a particle moving at a large fraction of the speed of light streams out of an overdensity while it is still growing and takes its own gravity with it. The two mass orderings put a floor under the sum at 58 meV and 100 meV; the cosmological upper bound is near 0.12 eV, which is 7.2 per cent of suppression. The floor and the ceiling are within a factor of two of each other, so this is a measurement about to happen or a model about to break, and the quantity it returns is a sum rather than any individual mass.$ Cosmology

A mass measured by what it stopped from forming

Neutrinos were relativistic in the early universe and are not now, so they are the one entry in the cosmic budget that changes category. What cosmology measures is not their density but the hole they leave — they stream out of a growing clump and take their gravity with them, and the missing structure bounds a particle mass more tightly than any laboratory has.

Exoplanets

A composition that dates a formation rather than placing it

The ice line in a young disc starts six astronomical units out and sweeps inward to under three as the disc drains. A body at four astronomical units therefore formed dry or wet depending only on when — so what it is made of is a clock, and reading it as a map is the mistake the moving line makes easy.

The astrometry an occultation campaign has to have. How far the shadow lands from where it was predicted, against the angular error in the positions it was predicted from, for a Centaur at 15 AU, a Kuiper belt object at 40 AU, Uranus at 19 AU. The conversion is one line — an angle times a distance — and one milliarcsecond at one astronomical unit is 0.7255 kilometres. The horizontal bands are each body's own shadow width, which is its diameter, and the crossing is the accuracy at which a campaign stops being a lottery: a Centaur needs 23.0 mas, a Kuiper belt object needs 4.1 mas, Uranus needs 3701.0 mas. Before the all-sky astrometric surveys the typical error was tens of milliarcseconds, which is thousands of kilometres at these distances, so events by small bodies were found by accident and not by appointment. The same event then measures the body's position to a few milliarcseconds or better, which improves the ephemeris that predicts the next one.

The observed sky

Each event pays for the prediction of the next

An occultation is predicted from two positions and lands where the arithmetic says. Recording it then measures the occulting body's position to a few milliarcseconds — better than a year of imaging — so the observation that the prediction made possible improves the ephemeris the next prediction comes from.

$The drag coefficient of a sphere runs from 2.03 to 2.79, and 2.2 is a convention. The free-molecular drag coefficient of a sphere against the accommodation coefficient — the fraction of striking molecules that thermalise with the surface and leave in a cosine distribution rather than bouncing — at speed ratios 2, 4, 8, with the surface at 0.3 times the flow's temperature. Specular reflection gives 2.469 at the lowest speed ratio drawn and 2.001 in the hypersonic limit, where every molecule delivers exactly twice its own momentum. Accommodation adds the re-emitted flux, which leaves at the wall temperature in a direction the flow did not choose, and it adds most where the speed ratio is smallest — which is high up, where the light species dominate. The conventional 2.2 lies outside this family at both ends: at s = 8 a sphere reaches only 2.112 even at full accommodation, and at s = 2 it is already 2.469 with none. That is not a defect of the arithmetic — 2.2 is a fitted average for satellite shapes, whose flat panels have a higher coefficient than a sphere of the same projected area, and the sphere is drawn because it is the one geometry with a closed form. What survives the shape is the dependence: a satellite's drag coefficient is an assumption about its surface chemistry and its attitude, and every density inferred from drag carries it in inverse proportion.$ Spaceflight

A coefficient that belongs to the surface, not the satellite

Every density ever inferred from satellite drag was divided by a drag coefficient, and that coefficient is not a property of the spacecraft. It is a property of what happens when an oxygen atom at eight kilometres a second strikes a surface it has already coated — and the conventional 2.2 is a convention.

Spaceflight

A weather forecast made out of orbits

A density model fitted to fifty years of satellite drag is a climatology, and its error does not shrink with more data. Updating it from the drag observed on objects in orbit right now is the manoeuvre a weather forecast makes — and it buys a factor of several for a day and nothing at all for a fortnight.

A corridor 0.2 km wide, and a density known to a factor of 2. The apoapsis a vehicle is left on after a single atmospheric pass, against the periapsis altitude it aimed at, for ballistic coefficients of 60, 130, 300 kg/m² arriving at 3 km/s. The energy removed is the density at periapsis times an effective path length of √(2πrₚH), divided by the ballistic coefficient — so it falls exponentially with altitude and the curve is steep. Hitting a 1000 km apoapsis to ±10 per cent requires a periapsis inside 0.2 kilometres. Getting the atmosphere wrong by a factor of 2 moves the aim point by 7.6 kilometres, which is 30.7 times the corridor's own width — so a ballistic vehicle aiming at a planet whose density is known to a factor of two misses by more than the tolerance allows, and the manoeuvre has to be flown rather than aimed.

Spaceflight

A manoeuvre that has never been flown once

Arrive on a hyperbola, dip once through the atmosphere, leave on a bound orbit having spent no propellant. The saving is a kilometre a second or more, the physics is the same as an entry corridor, and nobody has done it — because the corridor is a tenth of a kilometre wide and the density is known to a factor of two.

Galaxies

The same census, taken in two places

Fit a Schechter function to a rich cluster and to the field around it and the two come back with different slopes and different knees. Both differences are real, and neither can be read as a cause — a cluster's galaxies are also redder, and the same photometry measures both.

Starlight

Three shifts larger than the error bar, and two that cancel

An unresolved companion, a reddening and a metallicity each move a colour index by more than any modern photometer's precision. Two of them move it in opposite directions, so the three together can return the right temperature by cancellation rather than by accuracy.

Orbits

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.

At 15 keV the decrement is 9 per cent shallower and the null has moved to 224.4 GHz. The thermal Sunyaev–Zel'dovich distortion at one fixed Compton parameter, 10⁻⁴, computed with the relativistic kinetic equation expanded to second order in kTₑ/mₑc² for gas at 5, 10, 15 keV, against the non-relativistic shape that is the same for every temperature. All are scaled to the non-relativistic curve's largest excursion. Heating the gas at fixed y does two things to the spectrum. The decrement becomes shallower — by 9.3 per cent at its deepest point for 15 keV — and the increment becomes lower and broader, by 17.3 per cent at its peak, because fast electrons scatter photons over a wider spread of frequencies than slow ones and some of the boost is carried to frequencies above the drawn range. The crossing moves up, from 217.5 GHz to 224.4 GHz. A cluster's temperature is therefore written into the shape of its distortion and not only its amplitude, which is what a thermometer needs; and a Compton parameter read off one frequency with the non-relativistic shape is biased low by the drawn amount, which is what a mass estimate does not need. The expansion is good to well under a per cent below 15 keV; above 20 it has to be replaced by the exact integral.

Cosmology

A null that moves with the temperature

The frequency at which a cluster's hot gas vanishes from the microwave sky was derived for slow electrons. The electrons in a massive cluster move at a quarter of the speed of light, the null drifts half a gigahertz per keV, and what is left at the old frequency reads as a velocity as large as the ones being sought.

Exoplanets

A thermostat that only halves the error

The carbonate–silicate cycle is credited with keeping a planet's water liquid across the whole width of its habitable zone. Written down with its own measured exponents, it is a proportional controller that cancels about three-fifths of a change in sunlight, takes half a million years to do it — and reaches the published outer edge only on a planet with an order of magnitude more volcanism than the Earth.

Exoplanets

A year too short to feel its own eccentricity

A planet on an eccentric orbit can have a comfortable average and murderous extremes, and the habitable zone is drawn from the average. Whether the surface lives on the average or on the extremes is not decided by the flux at all — it is the ratio of how long the surface takes to change temperature to how long the year lasts, and the star sets the year.

Galaxies

A gradient the old stars have walked away from

The gas in a disc galaxy is richer in metals near the centre than at the edge, by about six-hundredths of a dex per kiloparsec in the Milky Way. Two ingredients of disc growth make that slope, a disc that grows from the inside out makes it flatten with time — and the old stars that should carry the steeper history have moved several kiloparsecs from where they were born.

$A power law has no timescale: half the Type Ia supernovae by 740 Myr and a tail to 13.7 Gyr. The fraction of all the Type Ia supernovae a single burst of star formation will ever produce that have exploded by a given delay, on a logarithmic time axis, for t⁻¹ from 40 Myr; t⁻¹·⁴ from 40 Myr; single delay of 1 Gyr; Gaussian, 3 ± 1 Gyr. The power law is what rates measured against host-galaxy ages and against the cosmic star-formation history both favour, and its cumulative fraction rises as the logarithm of the delay — equal numbers per decade of time. Half have exploded by the geometric mean of its limits, 740 Myr, 55 per cent by 1 Gyr, and the last are still exploding after a Hubble time. A single delay turns the whole population on at once; a Gaussian concentrates it at a characteristic age. The power law's shape has a physical reading: if white dwarfs explode when a pair of them merges by emitting gravitational waves, the merger time goes as the fourth power of their separation, and a broad distribution of separations becomes a distribution of delays with no preferred scale. What the drawing cannot say is which progenitors are involved — the measured rates constrain the shape and the normalisation, about one Ia per thousand solar masses of stars formed, and not the mechanism.$ Galaxies

The iron clock has no single delay

The α-element knee is drawn as though Type Ia supernovae switched on a billion years after the stars that made them. Measured rates say otherwise — the delays are spread evenly over every decade from forty million years to a Hubble time, as a power law with no timescale in it — and a clock with no timescale bends where a clock with one would break.

The observed sky

A triangle of meetings that turns in eight centuries

Jupiter and Saturn meet every twenty years, and each meeting falls about two-thirds of the way round the sky from the last, so the meetings trace a triangle. The triangle turns a third of a turn in 838 years because five of Jupiter's years almost equal two of Saturn's — and that same near-fit is the largest perturbation in the solar system, the one that made Saturn appear to be slowing down.

At the Sun–Earth L₂ the cheapest correction is every 23 days, and it costs e σ per e-folding. The annual station-keeping cost at the Sun–Earth L₂ point, against the interval between corrections, on logarithmic axes, for velocity errors of 0.5 cm/s, 2.0 cm/s, 5.0 cm/s along the unstable direction at each correction. Correcting often costs a lot because every correction carries its own error σ; correcting rarely costs a lot because the error has grown by e^(T/τ) in between, with an e-folding time τ = 23.4 days set by the point's growth rate of 2.484 times the orbital mean motion. The product (365.25/T) σ e^(T/τ) has its minimum at exactly T = τ, where the annual cost is 365.25 e σ/τ: 0.21 m/s a year for σ = 0.5 cm/s, 0.85 m/s a year for σ = 2.0 cm/s, 2.12 m/s a year for σ = 5.0 cm/s. The minimum is broad, so an operator can correct at a convenient interval near the e-folding time for little penalty, and the cost scales linearly with how well the spacecraft's velocity is known and executed. This is a one-dimensional caricature: a real halo orbit's correction also removes a stable component it need not, and solar radiation pressure on a large sunshield is a steady error source of its own. The figure's claim is the structure — an unstable equilibrium is cheap to hold if the instability is caught while it is still small, and its cost is a navigation budget rather than a force budget.

Spaceflight

An unstable point that costs less to hold than a stable orbit

A spacecraft at the Sun–Earth L₂ point sits on an equilibrium that throws it away, doubling any error every sixteen days. It holds station for a few metres per second a year — a twentieth of what a geostationary satellite pays to stay on an orbit that is stable. The difference is what is being paid for — an instability caught small costs a navigation budget, and a steady torque costs a force budget.

Starlight

The comparison stars are part of the measurement

Measuring a star against others on the same frame cancels everything the atmosphere and the instrument do to all of them at once — a two per cent change in transparency vanishes completely. What does not vanish is the comparison stars' own noise, which the target inherits, and the variability of any comparison that is not constant, which the target reports as its own.

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.

Orbits

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.

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

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.

$A gauge good to 7 per cent with a tenth of the load left, and to 23 per cent with three hundredths. The uncertainty in the propellant remaining in a spacecraft tank, as a percentage of what remains, against the fraction of the 450-kilogram load still in the tank, on a logarithmic uncertainty axis with the tank emptying to the right. Bookkeeping — summing every thruster firing through a flow-rate model — carries an error common to all burns of 2 per cent of the mass used, plus an independent 5 per cent per burn that averages down over 2000 firings; its absolute error grows with the mass used. Gauging by pressure and temperature infers the empty volume of the tank from the gas law applied to a known mass of pressurant, with a combined 0.66 per cent uncertainty in n R T / P and a 0.2 per cent uncertainty in the tank's volume; its absolute error grows as the gas fills the tank. The two methods are independent and are combined by inverse variance. With a tenth of the load left the combined estimate is uncertain by 2.9 kg, 7 per cent of what remains; with three per cent left, by 3.1 kg, 23 per cent. Near empty the absolute error barely changes, so halving what is left doubles the relative error — the gauge is at its worst exactly when the last manoeuvre has to be planned from it.$ Spaceflight

A fuel gauge that is worst when it is needed

A spacecraft's tank has no float and no dial. The propellant left is estimated by adding up every burn or by reading the pressure and temperature of the gas above the liquid, and both methods' errors grow with the propellant used. Relative to what remains, the error doubles every time what remains halves — so a geostationary satellite has to hold back months of station-keeping as a margin against a gauge that cannot see the last few kilograms.

All themes