More on Terra Nova

I had a few comments on my last post (and a surprisingly large number of hits--who knew writing about something so topical would be so popular?). Although I addressed the questions in the comments section there, I'm not convinced anyone will see them, so I thought I'd repost and expand my responses here.

Stars, not moon

The first comment pointed out that geeky girl in Terra Nova blamed the expansion of the universe for the stars in the sky being in different places, not the moon. My mistake. She's still wrong, though. The stars we see in the sky are all part of the Milky Way and hence too close to be expanding away from us (or more accurately, because they are gravitationally bound to the galaxy). They would still look different 85 million years ago, however. This is because all these stars, including our sun, are orbiting the centre of the galaxy. It takes the sun about 250 million years to orbit the centre of the galaxy. Even in 85 million years it, and all the other stars, would have all orbited part way around and be in different positions. The sun would actually have moved about a third of the way around it's orbit, but different stars closer or further in have different circumferences and would appear to have gone further or less far around.

The second commenter also raised a good point about the characters remembering the constellations, though. If the parents were young when they last were able to see the moon, it seems unlikely that they would ever have seen the constellations. Perhaps geeky girl studied them in class? (The parents don't actually mention the stars, just that the moon looks different and that they were young last time they saw it.)




Runaway moon?

The commenter two asked how, if the moon is moving away from us by 2 cm a year, has it not moved too far away by now?

Laser Ranging Retro Reflector, used to measure the exact distance
between Earth and moon, and how much this distance is changing.
Deployed by Apollo 14 astronauts.
Credit: NASA Johnson Space Center (NASA-JSC)

First, let me say that from bouncing lasers off reflectors left on the moon by Apollo astronauts, we know that right now the moon is moving 3.8 cm away per year. However, various theories suggest that the moon was moving away at different rates in the past. This makes sense since the Earth's gravitational influence becomes weaker as the moon moves further away, and because things like ice-ages would influence how much water was available for tidally sloshing around and influencing the moon.

In Terra Nova, the girl actually says the moon is moving away half a centimetre a year. I chose 2 cm when explaining it by accident, but it turns out this is roughly what palaeontological estimates predict the average may have been over that time (link and citations within).

A recession of 2 cm a year over 85 million years gives us a moon less than 2000 km closer 85 million years ago. Given that the moon varies more than that as it moves through closer (perigee) and further away (apogee) parts of its orbit now (at perigee it appears about 15% larger than at apogee), the real question is would the moon really be that noticeably bigger? If you're keen, you can use what I wrote in this blog post to work it out.

Of course, it might be. We only have theories and models for how the moon's rate of recession changes. But even using the present-day value of 3.8 cm/year, it would still only be 3200 km close 85 million years ago, which is less than a percent closer on average.

Solar eclipse: when TV gets it wrong

During dinner this evening, I caught part of Robin Hood on the ABC. (My internet-fu and ABC's handy iView tells me it was episode 1 of season 3, if you're interested.) Part of this episode involved a solar eclipse. I don't have a problem with solar eclipses. I don't object to them often having mystical significance or being used as a plot device.

What I do object to is the creators investing all their efforts into the CGI-ing of the eclipse (link to screen-cap) and not stopping to think about the immediate consequences. What am I talking about? Not five minutes after the eclipse has passed, we see Robin Hood standing on the battlements doing some heroic arrow firing with a backdrop of blue sky and a half-moon over his left shoulder.

A half moon. Right after a solar eclipse. What. The.

If you're feeling slightly lost at this point, allow me to explain. A solar eclipse occurs when the moon passes directly between the Earth and the sun. By a happy coincidence, the angular size of the moon in the sky is approximately the same as the size of the sun. This means that the moon, when passing in front of the sun, can cover it neatly and completely.

Anyone who has stared at the moon for any reasonable length of time will have noticed that it doesn't move around the sky all that quickly. More quickly than stars, maybe, but certainly not halfway across the sky in the space of five minutes. Five minutes after the moon has passed in front of the sun, it's still going to be near the sun in the sky. This means that, since it's day time, it will cease to be visible as the illuminated side of the moon—the part facing the sun—is most certainly not facing the Earth since it just passed between sun and Earth. For there to be a half-full moon in the sky, it needs to be about 90º away from the sun which amounts to about halfway across the sky.

Would it really have been so hard to photoshop (or whatever the movie equivalent is) the moon out of that shot? Really?

People not thinking these sorts of things through make me angry. Especially since lots of people must have been paid to think about the solar eclipse and they all apparently forgot about the mundane moon in the sky.

Conquering the Horizon

And now for something completely different. The horizon; how far away is it? How different would it look on another planet? We're used to horizons on Earth but if we're writing a story set on an asteroid or on a small moon or planet the horizon will be closer because the planet's surface falls away more quickly.

Distance to the Horizon

When I talk about the distance to the horizon, what I mean is if you're somewhere flat, what's the furthest you can see (including with the aid of binoculars or a telescope etc)? On Earth a good example of this would be how far away the point where the sea meets the sky is, when you're standing on a jetty. Once we have trees and buildings in the way it can get a bit more complicated. Luckily, the sort of extraterrestrial locales where the horizon is going to be most different to Earth's are least likely to have a large abundance of trees. Convenient.

Working out how far away the horizon is takes a little bit of trigonometry. I've drawn a sketch below of all the relevant distances and whatnot.

R is the radius of the planet/moon, h is the height of your person (well, of their eyes) or if they're in a building, it can be how high up they are, d is the straight line distance to the horizon, s is the distance along the surface of the planet/moon and θ is an angle that will be useful in some calculations.

The important thing to that you need to know about your non-Earth planet is how big it is or, more specifically, it's radius which is labelled R in the image above. It's a reasonable assumption that you'll have at least a rough idea of how tall your characters are. If you don't, it doesn't really matter, you can just guess something close since there's not going to be much difference between a tall person's horizon and a short person's (the differences really come into play in non-horizon situations, such as crowds). For the purposes of my calculations later on, I'm going to set h = 1.7 meters. Because I can.

Now, that's a right angle between the line I've labelled d and the left hand radius line. Since we know R and h we can now use Pythagoras's Theorem to work out the distance d. Don't worry if you don't remember any maths, I'm just going to tell you the answer.

Chances are, your planet is significantly larger than your person, so you will usually be able to ignore the h² but not always (if on a small asteroid, for example). If in doubt, leave it in. It won't make your answer worse.

This is not an unhelpful result. However, I can't help but feel that when people stand in a tall tower and say things like "They're ten miles away but gaining ground!" they don't mean ten miles from their eyes, but ten miles from the bottom of the tower (if nothing else, they'd probably be estimating based on land marks and those are definitely relative to the ground distance).

So how do we find the distance along the ground, s? Unsurprisingly, with more maths. We use the fact that s = Rθ and then work out θ so we can substitute for it and not have to actually calculate it directly. Using the same triangle as before, we can find s in two different ways:

If you're wondering, cos and tan are trigonometric functions all scientific calculators (including the ones hiding in all your computers) can do. The ^-1 indicates that's it's the inverse of the function which you can usually access by pressing shift/2nd or something like that, depending on the calculator.

For planets/moons which are much, much larger than a person, s and d will be very close; it's the tiny, tricksy moons or asteroids are where it'll really make a difference.

So how far?

Some examples now for a person 170 cm tall and for a ten storey building (30 metres high):

•  On Earth, ignoring atmospheric effects which actually extend the apparent horizon thanks to bending light, the horizon is 4.7 km away. From a ten storey building it's 19.7 km.
• On the moon or Io, which are similar in size, a standing horizon is just under 2.5 km and the ten storey building horizon is about 10 km.
• Ganymede and Titan (moons of Jupiter and Saturn, respectively) are a bit bigger than those two, with standing and ten storey building horizons of 3 km and 12.5 km.
• Mars is about one and a half times the size of Ganymede and a bit more than half the size of  Earth. It has horizons 3.3 km and 14 km for standing and building respectively.
• Deimos, Mars's moon, is rounder than Mars's other moon, Phobos, but still not that round. If you stand on a fortuitously round bit, the horizon will be 140 meters away (that's right, metres not kilometres—Deimos is actually an oblong with dimensions only 15⨉12.2⨉10.4 km across. Its average radius is 6.2 km). If you somehow managed to put a 10 storey building on it... well you'd see about 600 meters away.
• Ceres is a large, round asteroid (or dwarf planet) in the asteroid belt. It was one of the bodies that, when Pluto's planethood was called into question, was up for being classified as a planet if Pluto got to stay. (If you're wondering, it is considerably larger than Deimos, with a radius of 471 km.) A person would see the horizon 1.3 km away (pretty close if you think about how far a kilometre looks when you're driving, for example) and a ten storey building would see the horizon drop off 5.3 km away.
• And speaking of Pluto, Pluto's largest moon (it also has two tiny ones), Charon, is a bit bigger than Ceres and has a standing horizon of 1.4 km and a building horizon of 6 km.

Seeing things beyond the horizon

The horizons I've talked about above are the limiting distances for seeing things on (or close to) the ground. Things are a little bit different if we want to work out from how far away we can start to see the top of a tall building, for example.

The diagram below shows that although my little stick figure can only see the ground up to d distance away, s/he can see the top of a building which is d+b distance away. Huzzah!

My drawing skillz know no bounds. Close up of previous diagram with a building of height H, that the stick figure can just start to see the top of, added in. The building is b distance further away than the ground point being cut off by the curvature of the planet.

So what if we want to work out how from how far away we start to see the top of a building/monument/spaceport/volcano? Easy. All we have to do is work out the distances to the horizon for both the person and the building/monument/spaceport/volcano and add them together. The distance, D, from which the person starts to see the top of the building/whatever is then approximately given by:

You may have noticed that if we want to work out the distance from which someone can start to see a ten storey building, all we have to do is add the horizons I worked out above together. How convenient! Just quickly, the distances at which the building will start looming out of the ground are:

• Earth: 25.5 km (assuming you can find an isolated ten storey building in the middle of a 25 km circle of flat ground...)
• Moon/Io: 12.5 km
• Ganymede/Titan: 15.5 km
• Mars: 17 km
• Deimos: 740 meters if you can manage an ideal situation (I strongly suspect that you can't, but these calculations do give you a good idea of how small Deimos is... the edge of Deimos would look so close!)
• Ceres: 6.6 km
• Charon: 7.4 km

There you have it. Note that with Earth being the largest rocky body in the solar system, it by far has the widest plains (or planes, if you prefer to be mathematical about it) around. The larger-but-not-as-bit-as-Earth planets and moons (Mars, the moon, Io, Ganymede and Titan) give us similar results for their horizons, which suggests to me that someone travelling between them wouldn't notice much of a difference. Our small-but-still-roundish bodies (Ceres, Charon) both give results about half that of the larger bodies (and hence a quarter that of Earth). I only included Deimos for fun, but it is important to remember that standing (or floating, as the case may be) on or near the surface of this moon (or any similarly sized asteroid, of course) would, visually, be a very different experience to any other body I discussed.

Ringing Tides

Saturn has rings. So do all the other gas giants in the solar system. Although we have no ability to confirm whether extra solar gas giants also have rings, chances are some do. Where do these rings come from? Why doesn't Earth have any?

Terrible Tides

The answer to the first question, as you may have guessed from the title of this post, is tides. Last week I talked about tides causing satellites to be locked in synchronous orbits around their primaries (recommended reading if you haven't already). The thing to remember now is that the side of a satellite closest to its primary experiences a stronger gravitational pull than the far side. The difference in forces depends on the mass of the primary, the distance of the satellite from the primary and the size if the satellite.

If you recall from the introduction to gravity post, the force of gravity exerted on a mass, m, a distance, r, from another mass, M, is given by:

If we take M to be the mass of the primary and then consider two smaller masses m₁ and m₂, one of which is located at r₁ on the near side of the satellite, and the other at r₂, the far side of the satellite. If we assume our two small masses are equal (you can think of it as considering a kilogram of moon rock in two different locations), then the ratio of the forces experienced by them will be:

That equation might seem a bit abstract, so let's look at it in the context of a few real examples.

• Io is 4.217⨉10⁸ m from Jupiter, on average, and has a radius of 1.8⨉10⁶ m. The pull of Jupiter's gravity on the far side is just 99.15% that on the near side.
• Doing a similar calculation for the moon (orbiting the Earth), we find far side gravity 99.10% that of near side.
• Mercury orbiting the sun has far side gravity 99.99% that of the near side since, even though it's very close to the sun, it's a lot further away than the moons are from their primaries.
• Let's look at Saturn now. Not one of Saturn's moons, but Saturn's rings. The main rings, according to Wiki, extend between 66 900 km and 480 000 km above the centre of Saturn. The gravitational pull from Saturn on the far edge is 83.6% that of the near edge. Compared with the solid bodies discussed above, that's a much more significant difference.

It is now possible to come up with a scenario where the pull of the primary on the near side of the satellite is bigger than the pull of its own gravity. Let's look at one of Saturn's tiny moonlets. Pan orbits inside Saturn's A ring (towards the outer edge of the ring system). It's radius is only 14.2 km and it weighs 5⨉10¹⁵ kg, making it's surface acceleration due to gravity 0.0016 m/s² (less than a ten thousandth of a percent that of Earth's). By comparison, the acceleration due to gravity from Saturn at that distance is 2.12 m/s², more than 1300 times greater. Clearly, Pan could not have formed where it now orbits since it's very much held together by chemical forces, not gravitational.

EDIT: Correction made to the above paragraph. Previously I had stated that if you stood on the Saturn-side of Pan you would fall up into Saturn. This is not true. The more accurate statement I should've made was that if you were floating around in the vicinity of Pan's orbit and Pan came past you, its gravity would not be strong enough to pull you in over Saturn's gravity. No matter how close to it you were (even if you could touch the surface), if you were not already moving along with it (and hence had enough centripetal acceleration to balance Saturn's gravitational acceleration), then Saturn's gravity would win out and you would fall towards Saturn, rather than towards Pan.

Making rings

Even further out than the point at which the primary's gravity becomes stronger than the satellite's gravity, the primary's gravity will start to deform the satellite. This effect is not dissimilar to the tidal bulge the moon causes on Earth. It is also part of the reason the Galilean moons of Jupiter are tidally locked.

(Interesting fact: over time, the tidal bulge of the Earth is causing the Earth to slow down its period of rotation since the change in shape (which isn't constant, remember, as the moon's orbit is much slower than the Earth's day) alters the way it rotates (catch phrase: conservation of angular momentum). The drag of the water in the tidal bulge is also pushing the moon back, slightly, in its orbit. Eventually (and we're talking a pretty long eventually) the Earth-moon system will settle into a mutually tidally locked rotation with the moon significantly further away than it is now. Here is an interesting article about it from Space.com.)

In the case of a satellite which is reasonably fluid and only being held together by its own gravitational pull (called self-gravity), then there is no reason for it to stay together as one lump. It will disintegrate because the part closer to the primary wants to orbit faster than the part further away. A disintegrated satellite will turn into a system of rings around the planet. The point at which this happens is called the Roche limit and the equation which tells us the distance from the primary of the Roche limit is:

d is the distance of the Roche limit from the centre of the primary,  R is the radius of the primary and ⍴_M and ⍴_m are the densities of the primary and the satellite respecively.

You'll notice that there are densities in the above formula. The density of the satellite is relevant because it's a measure of both mass and gravity (since we're talking satellites that are only held together by their self gravity and not chemical bonds). The density of the primary comes into it because we need to know the mass (which is proportional to radius cubed times density and R will becomes cubed if you move it inside the brackets) but the radius is also relevant because if the Roche limit is inside the primary, we can pretty much ignore it.

Of course, most satellite aren't balls of dust but are held together by other chemical forces (like Pan is). For example a rock on Earth isn't held together by gravity, it's held together by the chemical bonds between the different atoms and molecules inside (slightly different bonds depending on it's composition). Similarly, once a satellite has formed (outside of the Roche limit), then it probably goes through other experiences (such as tidal heating) which fuse it into a more solid lump. If it then wanders inside the Roche limit, it's not going to dissolve just because it couldn't've formed there. Pan and a handful of other moons in Saturn's rings prove this point. So what's the Roche limit for satellites held together by more than just gravitational forces? It sort of depends on the forces, but Roche himself derived an approximation for fluid satellites which deform a bit before they break up due to the tidal forces:

If you're wondering whether rock counts as fluid, it does. Everything will deform a bit under sufficiently strong forces.

So this last equation is the point at which a satellite will start to break up if it spirals in too close to its primary. For Earth-moon system, the moon will disintegrate if it wanders within 11 000 km. Luckily for the moon, this isn't likely to happen until the sun end's it's main sequence life.

Living on a moon: How bright is the night?

Let's say you've stuck a colony on the moon of a gas giant. I've already talked about the unusual way in which the sun and the primary planet move (or don't move) across the sky. As you might recall, there will be times in the moon's orbit when, depending on where you are on its surface, the only natural illumination comes from its primary planet. the question this post addresses is: just how much illumination can we expect?
There are two things we need to know to work out how much illumination the primary is giving the moon:

1. How bright and far away is the sun?
2. How reflective is the primary?

EDIT: I've added in some comparisons with light bulbs thanks to Patty Jansen pointing out that the human eye can adapt to see in lighting conditions much dimmer than the sun

Star light, star bright?

The amount of light that reaches your planet-moon system from its sun will depend on what kind of star it is. Stars come in different sizes and different temperatures. Most stars lie on what is known as the Main Sequence. Two notable exceptions are red giants and white dwarfs. The main sequence refers to the band of stars running diagonally through the Hertzsprung-Russell Diagram (HR diagram, previous links to two different images). Is basically a plot of how much light a star gives out (it's magnitude or luminosity) against it's colour or temperature. Stars are then divided into types (O, B, A, F, G, K, M) based on colour/temperature. Giant stars (other than blue giants) lie above the main sequence and white dwarfs lie below it. The sun is a G type star with temperature 5800 K (on the surface, that is; it's much hoter on the inside). K means Kelvin and is the standard unit of temperature. To convert from Kelvin and Celcius, you need to subtract 273, so the sun is 5500ºC (with rounding).

Using a star's temperature we can work out how much energy, in the form of light, reaches our planet. The first step is to assume that the star is a black body. This might sound conter-intuitive since the last word you're likely to use to describe the sun is "black", but from a physics perspective, a black body is something that absorbs all incident light and emits light based on its temperature. Well, I say "light", but really I mean electromagnetic radiation.

The Stefan-Boltzmann law tells us how much energy a black body emits based on its temperature. When we're talking about stars, this is called the luminosity. The formula for calculating luminosity is:

A stars luminosity, given it's radius, R, and temperature, T. σ = 5.67 × 10^-8 is the Stefan-Boltzman constant and π = 3.14

The temperature has to be in Kelvin and the radius in meters to give luminosity in units of Watts (yes, like your light-bulbs) which is a measure of energy emitted per second. Radius and temperature are slightly trickier to come up with numbers for. If you're using a real star, you can just look it up on Wiki or Wolfram Alpha (Wiki even has a page listing the nearest stars to Earth). Otherwise you can make up a star with the characteristics you want such as temperature or class, then go to the second HR diagram I linked and look at the diagonal lines of radius. Whether you want a main sequence star, white dwarf or giant, this should give you an idea of radius (in units of the radius of the sun).

That's all well and good, but what we actually want to find is the light reaching a planet, not the total light emitted. Because stars emit light in all directions at once, their total energy output end up being diluted over an expanding sphere of light. Basically, not all the energy the sun produces hits our planet. It depends on how far away the planet is. This next formula will tell us how much energy hits the planet:

P is the energy per second hitting each square meter of the planet and D is the distance from the planet to its sun.

So P is the energy from the sun that hits a square meter of a planet which is D meters away from the sun. We're not quite there yet, but let's take a break and calculate some numbers. I'm going to work out the energy from the sun that hits the Earth/moon and Jupiter each second.

• Earth/moon are about 1.5 × 10¹¹ m from the sun. The sun's radius is 6.955 × 10⁸ m and its temperature is 5800 K. The energy hitting a square meter of the Earth or moon each second is 1400 Joules.
• Jupiter is 7.8 × 10¹¹ m from the sun. The energy hitting a square meter of Jupiter each second is 50 Joules, which is about 3.6% of the energy hitting the Earth. Jupiter's greater distance from the sun means that the sun's energy is about 30 times more spread out by the time it gets there. (As I calculate below, this is still about 14000 times brighter than the full moon as viewed from Earth.)

Planetshine

Light doesn't get completely absorbed by the planet, however. Some of it reflects back out into space and can illuminate other nearby objects. The property which determines how reflective something is (in this context) is called albedo. The average albedo of a planet is a number between 0 (non-reflective) and 1 (absolutely reflective), which represents the percentage of incident light that will be reflected.

In practice, it's fairly easy to implement albedo. The reflected energy is the incident energy multiplied by the albedo. Just multiply P above by albedo, A, and you get the power reflected off each square meter of planet. You can look up albedos for different planets/moons on Wiki and elsewhere. (But we all know Wiki's the easiest. It lists albedos in the summary box on the right of the relevant page. If more than one is given it's the Bond albedo, not the geometric albedo, that you want.)

What we actually care about, however, is how much of that reflected light goes on to reach the moon our colony is built on. In a way, we just reuse the equations I've already included above. Instead of putting L into the equation for P, use the P from the sun multiplied by albedo, radius becomes the radius of the planet, and distance is now the distance between planet and moon:

P is the energy per square meter per second hitting a moon, A is the albedo of the planet, R is the radius of their sun, r is the radius of the planet doing the reflecting, T is the temperature of their sun, d is the distance between planet and moon, D is the distance between planet/moon and sun. The last line is included because if you're using a real star, luminosity will probably be listed somewhere. Otherwise, the penultimate line is what you need to use.

OK, so this is getting increasingly more complicated looking, but remember that you only really have to do the last step. There rest are only there by way of explanation.

Now, one last thing before I calculate some more numbers. That last equation assumes that the primary planet appears full in the sky. If it's half full, you have to halve that number, if it's a quarter full you have to divide by four. Honestly? Just approximate.

• The moon has an albedo of 0.136. The energy the full moon is reflecting at the earth is 0.0037 W/m².
• For the purposes of comparison, a 100 Watt light bulb from 10 meters away has a brightness of 0.02 W/m².
• The Earth has an albedo of 0.306. The energy Earth reflects at the moon is 0.12 W/m². So because it's bigger and more reflective, the Earth as seen from the moon gives off about 32 times more energy per second. That means the full Earth in the lunar sky is roughly 32 times brighter than the full moon in Earth's sky and six times brighter than a 100 W light bulb.
• Jupiter has an albedo of 0.343. Ganymede is 1.1 × 10⁹ m away. The brightness of full Jupiter in Ganymedean sky is 0.07 W/m². That means Jupiter is almost twenty times brighter than the full moon. Not surprising given how big it is in the Ganymedean sky. A half-full Jupiter would be 10 times brighter than the full moon, a quarter-Jupiter about 5 times as bright and so-forth. The varying quantity here is what fraction of Jupiter's disk is illuminated (and that we're working under the assumption that Jupiter reflects evenly in all directions). A quarter-full Jupiter would be about as bright as a light bulb and a full Jupiter would be as bright as three and a half light bulbs 10 meters away.
• Io is 4.2 × 10⁸ m from Jupiter. The brightness of full Jupiter in Io's sky is 0.48. So Jupiter is shining a whopping 130 times brighter than the full moon. By comparison, the sun as seen from Io is only about 100 times brighter than Jupiter. Light-bulb-wise, Jupiter would be as bright as 24 100W light bulbs 10 meters away.
• For a bit of fun, the brightness of full Io (albedo 0.63) as seen from Ganymede varies from 1.2 × 10^-4 W/m² when it is at its closest point to Ganymede to 2.4 × 10^-5 W/m² when it is at its furthest. Neither of those are very bright, but it would still definitely be visible. It's about 0.6–3% the brightness of the full moon.
• And finally, let's say we put Jupiter at the same distance from the sun as Earth is. Now Ganymede would get around the same amount of energy from the sun per square meter as Earth does and Jupiter would be a lot, lot brighter. How bright? 1.9 W/m², which is 500 times more light that Earth gets from the moon and as bright as almost 100 light bulbs from a distance of 10 meters.

And there you have it. A method for approximating how much light you'd get reflected from a gas giant planet (or whatever planet/moon/asteroid you like). Unfortunately this post ended up being a little bit more complicated than I had initially anticipated (where complicated really means more maths), but it's a small price to pay for painstaking accuracy... Well, some semblance of accuracy, at any rate. There are a lot of approximations in the above (for example, the albedo varies for different types of terrain; so Earth's albedo is higher over clouds than over forest), but on average, it's close enough. Phew!

One last thing I came across after writing this post. I was looking for something else and came across this photo of Jupiter and Io. Notice how the line between Io's sun side and dark side (called the terminator) is very distinct and solid, whereas Jupiter has a bit more of a gradient going from light to dark? This is because Jupiter has an atmosphere (a very thick one, but the effect applies to Earth's atmosphere too) whereas Io's atmosphere is whispy and not really much to write home about. The atoms/molecules/particles in the atmosphere reflect light in all directions, allowing it to diffuse through a bit, giving us that gradient from light to dark. Io, on the other hand, only reflects light off its surface, leading to the solid terminator you can see in that image. Just something to think about when writing those realistic descriptive passages. ;-)

Update: I photoshopped some Jupiters into skies to give a size comparison with the full moon. You can see them here.

Introduction to Gravity

I thought I'd do a series of posts on gravity because it's a huge topic and kind of important. I don't really want to do all of these in a row so if any of you have requests or suggestions for topics, please let me know in the comments. :-)



Newton's law of gravity



Almost everyone has heard the story of Newton sitting under an apple tree and being inspired towards understanding gravity thanks to a falling apple. You may have heard the version of that story where the apple falls on Newton's head but I recently read that it actually landed next to him. I am more inclined to believe this version of the story because I know that if an apple fell on my head I'd be too busy cursing the tree to have a flash of inspiration.

What was the revelation Newton had about gravity? Well basically, he gave us a simple, universal description of gravity. The same force that causes the apple to fall towards the ground also keeps the moon orbiting the Earth and the Earth orbiting the sun. The mathematical expression for the force of gravity between two objects that Newton left us with is:

F is the force of gravity between two objects of masses M and m kilograms, with their centres separated by distance r meters. G is the gravitational constant and is equal to 6.67 × 10^-11 km³ kg^-1 s^-2 .

However, in our day-to-day experiences, it is not forces, per se, that we are most aware of but accelerations. For example, if you are on a train moving at a constant speed (not accelerating, that is; not slowing down or speeding up), you can't tell how fast you are going solely from its motion. The only thing that would give it away is the bumping up and down thanks to uneven tracks. However, it's easy to tell when the train is slowing down or speeding up because you are either pushed backwards or forwards in your seat (depending on which way you are facing).

Although gravity is always pulling us towards the centre of the Earth, what we actually feel is the ground (or floor or chair or whatever) holding us up and preventing us from falling towards the centre of the Earth. It's gravity accelerating us into the floor that we experience as weight. If there was no floor and we were just falling, we would actually feel weightless (air resistance notwithstanding). The International Space Station is well within Earth's gravitational field but it is constantly falling, which is what makes the astronauts inside feel weightless. Luckily it's not just falling straight down; it also has a horizontal velocity which means that in the time it falls downwards a certain amount, the curvature of the Earth results in the ground also falling away by the same amount. This is called an orbit, and I will talk more about them in the next section.

Back to the equation above. How do we turn this into what we experience every day on Earth and then into what we would experience if we were living on another planet. The important quantity to calculate is g, the acceleration due to gravity. Every force (or sum of forces) can be described as an acceleration acting on a mass. F = ma is the famous equation and is the mathematical representation of Newton's second law (side fact: Newton's law of gravitation didn't get a number, his three laws refer to more basic laws of mechanics). To find acceleration due to gravity on the surface of a planet, we equate F = mg (rather than F = ma, since g is the symbol we use for acceleration due to gravity) with Newton's law of gravity:

Acceleration due to gravity, g, depends only on the mass of the body exerting a gravitational force and on the distance from the centre* of that body. All bodies, no matter what their mass, m, will accelerate at the same rate in the same gravitational field.

To find g at the surface of the Earth, you need to substitute in the mass of the Earth for M and the radius of the Earth for r. On Earth, g = 9.8 meters per second per second, which means that, if we ignore air resistance, something that is falling will gain 9.8 m/s of speed each second. It also means that the force with which we are constantly pushed into the ground/chair/bed is equal to our mass times 9.8.

On planets other than Earth which are smaller, larger, heavier or lighter, there are different accelerations due to gravity which we can find by throwing the right numbers into the equation above. Some examples from rocky† planets and moons in our solar system (where g is acceleration due to gravity on Earth's surface):

• Moon: 1.7 m/s² = 0.17 g (about a sixth of Earth's gravity, so you would feel a sixth as heavy.)
• Mars: 3.7 m/s² = 0.38 g (between a third and two fifths of Earth's gravity)
• Mercury: 3.8 m/s² = 0.39 g (coincidentally very close to Mars)
• Ganymede: 1.5 m/s² = 0.15 g (also about a sixth of Earth's gravity)

And because this is easily applicable to extrasolar planets — that is, planets outside of our solar system — I have also calculated some surface accelerations due to gravity for a few known exoplanets (links below are to Wiki, but I got my values from the Exoplanet iOS app; see below).

• Gliese 1214 b: 8.6 m/s² = 0.88 g (Just under nine tenths that of Earth. However, it's just inside its host star's habitable zone (the star is called Gliese 1214) which means it'll probably be too hot for human habitation. It could even have a runaway greenhouse effect like Venus. It's also possible that this planet has a very thick atmosphere making it more similar to a small gas giant like Neptune than to Earth.)
• CoRoT 7 b: 18.4 m/s² = 1.9 g (Just under twice Earth gravity so you would feel almost twice as heavy and, more vitally, your organs would all press down on each other twice as strongly. According to NASA (pdf, sorry), this isn't terribly sustainable in the long term for humans as we are now. Personally, I don't think it would take an awful lot of genetic engineering to fix this for us (we are talking science fiction, after all). The bigger problem with this planet is that it's much to close to its sun for our comfort or survival.)
• Kepler 11f: 3.4 m/s² = 0.35 g (About a third of Earth's gravity. Compare with Mars or Mercury. Unfortunately, it's also slightly too close to its star to be habitable. Incidentally, the whole Kepler 11 system is quite interesting with six confirmed planets so far.)

(If you have a hankering to include some real exoplanets in your story, I highly recommend this iOS app is an excellent resource. It is a frequently updated database of all the confirmed exoplanets that have been discovered, including their statistics (mass, distance from star, radius where available, whether it's in its star's habitable zone...) and you can even pan through and around a zoomable 3D map of the Milky Way. And when I say zoomable, I mean you can zoom right in to see the planets orbiting their stars at the correct distances and with the appropriate relative velocities. Even if you don't care about the specifics of the planets, that Milky Way map is worth the time it takes to click the free download link. For the record, I am in no way connected to this app, I just think it's awesome.)


* Technically, the distance from the centre of mass, but for round or roundish things like planets the centre of mass is generally the centre of the planet.
† Rocky because you can't stand on the surface of the gas giants. It's possible to calculate the acceleration due to gravity experienced by a hovering platform or similar, however.

Orbits

As we've established, gravity is what keeps things in orbit around other things. As such, we need to use what we know about gravity to work out how fast something has to orbit for different distances and masses of objects. In fact, Kepler had worked this out to some degree before Newton came along, but Kepler's third law was slightly less specific than could be calculated using Newton's law. Kepler realised that for orbits, the ratio between the cube of the semi-major axis and the square of the period was constant. The semi-major axis is the same as the distance to the larger body from the smaller (like r in the equations earlier) for circular orbits and half the length of the longest side of an ellipse (oval). the period, T, is the time taken to complete one orbit, so if we're talking about planets, then it's the length of a year. We can derive the constant part of Kepler's third law using Newton's law of gravity and the equation that describes centripetal force.

As it happens, I talked about a lot of the ingredients for working out how fast a planet should orbit around its star in my recent post about space elevators. The set of equations below starts by equating the centripetal force (the force required to keep something of mass m moving around in a circle with radius r and at speed v) with the gravitational force (centripetal on the left, gravitational on the right of the equals sign), then shows the derivation of Kepler's third law (the second last line) and finally gives the period, T, of a planet orbiting around a star of mass M at a distance r. Feel free to let your eyes glaze over if maths isn't your thing. You have been warned.

The final line gives us the period in seconds, which for most things isn't terribly helpful. To find out what the length of your planet's year is in days or Earth years you will need to divide your answer for the period by 86400 or 3.15 × 10⁷ respectively.

The reason I chose to rearrange Kepler's law to solve for the period rather than for the semi-major axis is because for science fictional purposes, the distance from the star is more likely to be fixed for plot purposes. For example, an human-inhabited planet has to be in the habitable zone. Exactly what the habitable zone is will be, I think, the subject of a future blog post.

I should also point out that these equations are completely applicable to man-made satellites or moons as well, you just need set the planet's mass to be M instead of the star's mass. Just remember that if your comms satellite is x km above the surface of the Earth/whatever planet, you have to add on the radius of the planet to find r to throw into the equations I've talked about today.

Living on a moon: Marking time

There is a certain class of exotic location often used in science fiction and that is the surface of a moon.

Most of what I'm going to say will apply to moons like Earth's but I'm going to focus on the moons of gas giant planets like Jupiter and Saturn partly because they're a little more interesting and partly because if you want to know about day and night on the moon, it's more trivial to look up.

Planets orbiting a star

First, let's talk about ordinary (Earth-like) planets orbiting a star. They will have a year defined by how long it takes them to do a complete orbit of their sun and a day defined by how long it takes them to spin on their axis. Actually, there are two possible definitions of a day:

• the solar day, which is how long it takes the planet to rotate all the way around so that the sun returns to the same place in the sky (or more accurately, until it returns to the same point above the planet. On Earth, the meridian passing through Greenwich and the middle of the Pacific ocean is the reference point we use).
• and the sidereal day, which is how long it takes the planet to rotate about its axis so that the stars return to the same position in the sky.

On Earth, a sidereal day is slightly shorter than a solar day (only 23.9 hours) and this will be true of any planet that spins in the same direction as it orbits. So the Earth, looking down on the north pole, spins anti-clockwise and orbits the sun anticlockwise. Such a planet is in a prograde orbit. This is true of all the planets except Uranus, which is sideways, and most of their moons. It is in general going to be true of all systems if they formed together (thanks to conservation of angular momentum) and if a planet isn't prograde (that is, if it's particularly lopsided like Uranus or if it's retrograde meaning spins or orbits in the opposite direction) then it probably has a more interesting history. In the case of Uranus, it is thought that some collision knocked it sideways a long time ago. For retrograde planets, where one each of orbit and rotation are clockwise and anticlockwise, the implication is that they did not form where they are found, but are interlopers from elsewhere. Or there could also have been a collision, but it would have to be a very large collision in exactly the right place. It's interesting to note that all the planets orbit in the same direction as the sun rotates. This is strong evidence that they all formed from the same nebula at roughly the same time.

Moons: Mostly tidally locked

OK, enough background. On to the moons. Let's assume we have a rocky moon orbiting a gas giant planet. All the interesting moons in our solar system (which is to say, the ones I checked and generally most or all of the big ones) are tidally locked with their primary, including Earth's moon. What does tidally locked actually mean?

I won't go into the details of the physics, but if a satellite is tidally locked with its primary, the same side will always face the primary. So on Earth, we always see the same side of the moon. If you go to the moon and land on the near side, Earth will always be in the same place in the sky (assuming you don't travel far from your landing place) varying only in how much of it is lit up by the sun. It's also possible to have planets tidally locked with their sun, but they have to be quite close to their sun for this to happen. Consequently, most of those planets wouldn't be habitable for humans, unless the star in question was a red dwarf, but that's a topic for another blog post.

Back to our rocky moon orbiting a gas giant. Since it's tidally locked, you will need to decide where you want to place your colony/city. Directly under the primary planet so that it always sits high in the sky? On the side of the planet which never sees the primary? These choices will depend a bit on your whim and a bit on the purpose of the colony. For the latter, if it's a research installation studying the primary or a mining installation skimming gas from the primary's atmosphere, it makes the most sense to build it directly below the primary. On the other hand, if the research installation is built for astronomy observations, you'd want to put it on the non-planet side so that light from the sun reflected from the primary interferes with your telescopes less.

Days and nights?

Once you've made that decision, you probably want to know how long days and nights will be on your moon. This is where it gets a bit tricky. I'm going to use Ganymede, one of the larger moons of Jupiter, as an example. Thanks to its synchronous orbit (another way of saying that it's tidally locked), a sidereal day on Ganymede is the same as it's orbital period. Orbital period is the general term for how long it takes to orbit all they way around Jupiter. (I'd prefer to say "Jovian day", but unfortunately that term refers to one of Jupiter's solar days. :-/ ) So unless it orbits very quickly, orbital period would not be a useful measure of time to base diurnal cycles on. And if it did have a fast enough orbit, it probably wouldn't be very habitable since that would imply that it was very close to the primary like Io (the innermost Galilean moon of Jupiter), leading to a host of problems like extreme volcanism and earthquakes. As I hope the crude sketch I did below helps illustrate, a solar day on Ganymede (that is, the length of time it takes for the sun to move all the way across the sky and come back to its starting point) is also the same length as an orbital period.*

Not to scale! Top right circle is the sun, orange circle is Jupiter with the lighter half the half that is illuminated by the sun and the darker brown half the dark side. The grey shadow is Jupiter eclipsing the sun and the rainbow circle is Ganymede, so coloured to illustrate that the same side is always pointing towards Jupiter. The thick black line shows its orbit around Jupiter and the light and dark semicircles inside Jupiter's orbit are to help guess how full/dark/crescent/gibbous Jupiter would appear in Ganymede's sky (if you're on the side of Ganymede facing Jupiter).

We can also use that diagram to work out how much of Jupiter would be lit up by the sun if we're on a the side of Ganymede facing Jupiter. It should also be noted that, unlike the Earth being lit up by the moon and human lights at night and hence being visible from the moon even when it's not lit up by the sun, the dark side of Jupiter would be completely dark. Against the black sky of Ganymede (and the sky would always be black, even during the day, since Ganymede has no atmosphere to scatter photons with) it would just look like a black hole in the stars. A black hole about 15 full moons across.

*Technically it would be slightly less thanks to Jupiter's orbit around the sun, but Jupiter is so far out from the sun and has such a large distance to travel that day to day we can ignore the small difference to the length of a Ganymedean solar day. If your gas giant is much closer to its star, it might become relevant, but this calculation is left as an exercise for the reader. ;-)

Time moves forward

Finally, it would be useful to work out how quickly Jupiter and the sun change in Ganymede's sky, especially if you're writing a story that involves spending longer than a day there. I will make this section more general so that you can use for any hypothetical moon orbiting an arbitrary gas giant.

What you need to know or decide is the orbital period, let's call it T,  a piece of paper with your own approximation of the diagram above (without all the different positions of Ganymede drawn in yet), and a protractor (or a really good eye for angles). For Ganymede, T = 7.15 (Earth) days. If you're making up a planet-moon system of similar size, it's probably best you're numbers don't deviate too much. I think I might make the proper physics you need to consider when making up planets the subject of a future blog post.

On your hand drawn diagram, choose a starting position for your planet and a location on the surface for your colony. I suggest putting your colony close to the equator because a) it will be more picturesque and b) Ganymede has some crazy magnetic fields and I suspect that radiation shielding would be easiest to achieving within about 30º latitude of the equator. This doesn't automatically apply to all moons in similar systems, but still, it can't hurt. Draw your moon in it's starting position and mark the location of your colony with a cross or something. Remember that looking down from above the north pole, the moon will probably be orbiting anticlockwise if it's in our solar system.

Next, you need to do a small piece of maths. Decide how much time you want to pass before you mention what the gas giant is looking like in the sky again. Call this time t. Make sure T and t are in the same units (convert them both to days or both to hours, whichever is more convenient, if they don't match). To work out how many degrees, d, of a circle the moon has moved in this time, you need to use the following equation:

d = 360*t/T

In one Earth day, Ganymede will move d = 360*1/7.15 = 50.3º which is a bit more than an eight of a circle. On the diagram above, that's a little bit more than the distance between two consecutive rainbow Ganymedes (ignoring the two close together in Jupiter's shadow). Since T is so small for Ganymede, this means that Jupiter and the sun change quite dramatically in the sky (Earth) day to (Earth) day. Depending on how your planet-moon system is set up, your mileage may vary.

Multiple moons

And a quick bonus calculation: if your planetary system has multiple moons your feel like caring about, you can do the above calculation for each of them, choose starting points and then see how far each one moves in the span of time you're interested in. This doesn't need to be very hard at all. In the jovian system, Io completes four orbits in the time it takes Ganymede to complete one and Callisto completes two in the same time. This convenient state of events is thanks to the physical principle of resonance. Resonance happens in all sorts of places in nature and celestial mechanics, including Saturn's rings and Mercury, so feel free to implement it with impunity.

Hopefully, I've given you enough information to convincingly set a story on a moon orbiting a gas giant planet. Well, in a colony at least, where you don't have to worry too much about external climate, so long as you stay away from Io.

Foreign Skies

Living on Earth, we are used to seeing the moon in the sky. Other planets, real or imagined, are unlikely to have moons identical to the Earth (well, ok, the imagined ones might). Other moons will look different and will take up different amounts of the sky. Today, I calculated how big various celestial bodies would appear from the surface of other celestial bodies and compared this with the size of the moon as seen from Earth.

In case you want to try this yourself, I will briefly explain how I did it. First I found the angular diameter of the object in the sky using the equation below. For objects that are much smaller than the distance they are away (so if radius divided by diameter is less than about 0.1), you can also use the small angle approximation, in which you can ignore the tan part and the angular diameter is approximately 2r/d.

Here, r is the radius of the object in the sky and d is the distance it is away. Both r and d should be in the same units,  that is, both in km (or miles). If you have your calculator set to degrees, then α is the angular diameter of the object in the sky.

 Now, because angular diameter doesn't really mean much on an intuitive level, I then divided this angle by the angular diameter of the full moon which is about 0.5 degrees. This gives me the number of full moons you could line up across the middle of the object. If you're interested in the area of sky covered by the object (in units of the full moon), then just square this number.

The Earth seen from the moon

The Earth is a lot bigger than the moon, so naturally it would look bigger if you were standing on the moon. In fact, the Earth seen from the moon is 3.6 times the size of the full moon. APOD have a nice photo for us of this scenario.

Living on Ganymede

Ganymede is the largest moon of Jupiter, and the third furthest away of the four Galilean moons. Ganymede is about three times as far from Jupiter as the moon is from Earth. However, Jupiter is very large (the largest planet in the solar system, in fact) and if visible from Ganymede's surface, would dominate the sky. As in happens, Ganymede is tidally locked with Jupiter, putting it in a synchronous orbit and meaning that the same face is always turned towards Jupiter. Unlike our moon rising and setting in the sky, it you stood on a part of Ganymede facing Jupiter, the gas giant planet would not move in the sky at all. Also, you could use Jupiter to navigate (even if it was directly above you, although it would be a bit trickier in that case) because the bands in its atmosphere run from east to west (here is another nice photo from APOD, which also shows Ganymede in the distance).

So, standing on the surface of Ganymede, how big would Jupiter look? Very big. Fifteen full moons across big. It's a bit hard to imagine and if I find a nice photo of a full moon above a city or other recognisable landmark, I will photoshop Jupiter in and post it here. Jupiter looks so big that you could spread 225 full moons over it and only just cover it up. Yeah. That big.

I also worked out how big Io, the closest Galilean moon to Jupiter, would look from Ganymede. Io is covered in volcanoes and sulfur and looks yellow. When Io is lined up between Ganymede and Jupiter, it will be 0.6 times the size of the full moon; a bit more than half. I initially decided that when Io was on the far side of Jupiter, even if it wasn't behind the parent planet, it would be too small to be very exciting, but doing a quick calculation I found that it would be about a third of the size of the full moon, so probably still big enough to be noticeable.

Phobos for a bit of fun

For a bit of fun, I also worked out how big Mars would look if you were standing on Phobos, one of its asteroid-like moons. Before doing this calculation, I never really appreciated how close in Mars' moons orbited. Firstly, Phobos is only about two Martian radii above the surface of Mars. This means that the small angle approximating definitely won't work when calculating Mars' apparent size. So how big does Mars look? Its angular diameter is a whopping 140º. That's the width of 280 full moons lined up next to each other. In fact, Mars would take up nearly the whole sky on Phobos. I think that's big enough to feel like you're falling towards it, particularly since Phobos has a very puny gravitational field. Scary.