Why Is Io Hot, Europa Not?

The Acme Pizza and Science Society is back in session at Eddie’s circular table. Al won the last pot so he gets to pick the next topic. “I been reading about Jupiter’s weird moon Io.”

“How’s it any weirder than Ganymede that’s bigger than Mercury?”
  ”Or Europa that’s got geysers and maybe life?”

“Guys, it’s the only yellow moon in the Solar System. You can’t any weirder than that! We got lots of stony moons that are mostly gray, a few water‑ice moons that are white like snow and then there’s Io by itself covered with sulfur.”

“Yellow?”

“Mostly yellow, except where it’s red or dark brown. Or white. They’re all sulfur colors.”

“I’ve seen yellow sulfur, but red?”

“It’s like carbon can be diamond or graphite. Sulfur can be different colors depending on how hot it was when it froze. The article said the white’s probably frozen sulfur dioxide that smells like burning matches.”

“Where’d all that sulfur come from?”

“From inside Io. It’s got like 400 volcanoes that blast out sulfur and stuff. Some of it falls back and that’s why Io is yellow, but a lot gets all the way into space. The article said Io loses a tonne per second. Nothin’ else in the Solar System is that active. Or that dense, probably ’cause it blasted away all its light stuff a long time ago. Anyway, I got a theory.”

“Don’t stop there. What’s the theory?”

“Jupiter’s stripes got all those colors, right, and Sy here wrote astronomers think the brownish bands have sulfur. My theory is that Jupiter got its sulfur from Io. Whaddaya think, Sy?”

“Interesting idea.” <drawing Old Reliable from its holster> “We need numbers before we can upgrade that to a conjecture.” <screen‑tapping> “So, how much sulfur does Jupiter have, and how much could Io have supplied? … Ah, here’s a chart to get us started. Says for every million hydrogen atoms in Jupiter’s atmosphere there’s 40 sulfurs. This Wikipedia article says that the planet masses 1.898×1027 kilograms. 76% of that is hydrogen which calculates to … 1.8×1027 grams of sulfur.”

“That’s a lot of sulfur.”

“Mm-hm. Now, using your tonne per second loss rate and guessing it’s 50% sulfur and that’s been going on for ¾ of the system’s life so far, I get that Io may have shed about 5×1022 grams of sulfur. That’s short by 4½ powers of 10. Sorry, Al, Io contributed a little to Jupiter’s sulfur stash but not enough to promote your idea to a conjecture.”

Jim tosses some chips into the pot. “It’s worse than that, Sy. Galileo‘s probe fell into a clear hotspot so it sampled Jupiter’s gaseous atmosphere but it totally missed the sulfur tied up in those brown clouds. Jupiter’s got even more sulfur than your calculation shows. But there’s still an open question.”

“What’s open?”

Animation by WolfmanSF, CC0, via Wikimedia Commons

“The inner three Galilean moons are locked into resonant orbits. Laplace explained how their separate gravitational fields continually nudge each other to stay in sync. A 1979 paper supported that explanation but then claimed that the moon‑moon nudges produced enough tidal friction within Io to power volcanoes.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“It doesn’t tell us why Io’s the only one hot enough to boil off all its water.”

“Io had water?”

“Probably, long ago. All three share the same orbital plane and probably formed from the same disk of gas and dust. Both Europa and Ganymede are water worlds, covered by kilometers of water ice. Io should be wet or the other two would be dry by now. Something’s different with Io and it’s not inter‑moon gravitation.”

“Why not?”

“Numbers. Those moon‑moon interactions are measured in microgravities. Such light impulses can synchronize effectively if repeated often enough, but these just aren’t energetic enough to boil a moon. Besides, Europa stays cool even though it feels a lot more action than Io does.”

“You got a theory?”

“A hypothesis. I’m betting on magnetism. Io’s deep in Jupiter’s lumpy magnetic field which must generate eddy currents in Io’s mostly iron core. I think Io heats up like a pot on an induction stove.”

~~ Rich Olcott

SPLASH Splish plink

<chirp, chirp, chirp, chirp> “Moire here. This’d better be good.”

“Hello, Mr Moire. I’m one of your readers.”

“Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Afraid not, I don’t know what time zone you’re in.”

“It’s three o’clock in the morning! Why are you calling me at this hour?”

“Oh, sorry, it’s mid-afternoon here. Modern communications tech is such a marvel. No matter, you’re awake so here’s my question. I’ve been pondering that micro black hole you’ve featured in the last couple of posts. You convinced me it would have a hard time hitting Earth but then I started thinking about it hitting the Sun. The Sun’s diameter is 100 times Earth’s so it presents 10,000 times more target area, yes? Further, the Sun’s 300,000 times more massive than Earth so it has that much more gravity. Surely the Sun is a more effective black hole attractor than Earth is.”

“That’s a statement, not a question. Worse yet, you’re comparing negligible to extremely negligible and neither one is worth losing sleep over which is what I’m doing now.”

“Wait on, I’ve not gotten to my question yet which is, suppose a black hole did happen to collide with the Sun. What would happen then?”

<yawn> “Depends on the size of the black hole. If it’s supermassive, up in the billion‑sun range, it wouldn’t hit the Sun. Instead, the Sun would hit the black hole but there’d be no collision. The Sun would just sink quietly through the Event Horizon.”

“Wouldn’t it rip apart?”

“You’re thinking of those artistic paintings showing great blobs of material being torn away by a black hole’s gravity. Doesn’t work that way, at least not at this size range.” <grabbing Old Reliable from my nightstand and key‑tapping> “Gravitational forces are distance‑dependent. Supermassives are large even by astronomical standards. The M87* black hole, the first one ESA got an image of, has the mass of 6 billion Suns and an Event Horizon three times wider than Pluto’s orbit. The tidal ripping‑apart you’re looking for only happens when the mass centers of two objects approach within Roche’s limit. Suppose a Sun‑sized star flew into M87*’s Event Horizon. Their Roche limit would be 100 astronomical units inside the Event Horizon. If any ripping happened, no evidence could escape to us.”

“Another illusion punctured.”

“Don’t give up hope. The next‑smaller size category have masses near our Sun’s. The Event Horizon of a 10‑solar‑mass black hole would be only about 60 kilometers wide. The Roche Zone for an approaching Sun is a million times wider. There’s plenty of opportunity for ferocious ripping on the way in.”

“Somehow that’s a comfort, but my question was about even smaller black holes — micro‑size flyspecks such as you wrote about. What effect would one have on the Sun?”

“You’d think it’d be a simple matter of the micro‑hole, let’s call it Mikey, diving straight to the Sun’s center while gobbling Sun‑stuff in a gluttonous frenzy, getting exponentially bigger and more voracious every second until the Sun implodes. Almost none of that would happen. The Sun’s an incredibly violent place. On initial approach Mikey’d be met with powerful, rapidly moving magnetic fields. If he’s carrying any charge at all they’d give him whip‑crack rides all around the Sun’s mostly‑vacuum outer layers. He might not ever escape down to the Convection Zone.”

“He’d dive if he escaped there or he’s electrically neutral.”

“Mostly not. The Convection Zone’s 200,000-kilometer depth takes up two‑thirds of the Sun’s volume and features hyper‑hurricane winds roaring upward, downward and occasionally sideward. Mikey would be a very small boat in a very big forever storm.”

“But surely Mikey’s density would carry him through to the core.”

“Nope, the deeper you go, the smaller the influence of gravity. Newton proved that inside a massive spherical shell, the net gravitational pull on any small object is zero. At the Sun’s core it’s all pressure, no gravity.”

“Then the pressure will force‑feed mass into Mikey.”

“Not so much. Mikey has jets and and an accretion disk. Their outward radiation pressure sets an upper limit on Mikey’s gobbling speed. The Sun will nova naturally before Mikey has any effect.”

“No worries then.”

~~ Rich Olcott

Hiding Among The Hill Spheres

Bright Spring sunlight wakes me earlier than I’d like. I get to the office before I need to, but there’s Jeremy waiting at the door. “Morning, Jeremy. What gets you here so soon after dawn?”

“Good morning, Mr Moire. I didn’t sleep well last night, still thinking about that micro black hole. Okay, I know now that terrorists or military or corporate types couldn’t bring it near Earth, but maybe it comes by itself. What if it’s one of those asteroids with a weird orbit that intersects Earth’s orbit? Could we even see it coming? Aren’t we still in danger of all those tides and quakes and maybe it’d hollow out the Earth? How would the planetary defense people handle it?”

“For so early in the day you’re in fine form, Jeremy. Let’s take your barrage one topic at a time, starting with the bad news. We know this particular object would radiate very weakly and in the far infrared, which is already a challenge to detect. It’s only two micrometers wide. If it were to cross the Moon’s orbit, its image then would be about a nanoarcsecond across. Our astrometers are proud to resolve two white‑light images a few milliarcseconds apart using a 30‑meter telescope. Resolution in the far‑IR would be about 200 times worse. So, we couldn’t see it at a useful distance. But the bad news gets worse.”

“How could it get worse?”

“Suppose we could detect the beast. What would we do about it? Planetary defense people have proposed lots of strategies against a marauding asteroid — catch it in a big net, pilot it away with rocket engines mounted on the surface, even blast it with A‑bombs or H‑bombs. Black holes aren’t solid so none of those would work. The DART mission tried using kinetic energy, whacking an asteroid’s moonlet to divert the moonlet‑asteroid system. It worked better than anyone expected it to, but only because the moonlet was a rubble pile that broke up easily. The material it threw away acted as reaction mass for a poorly controlled rubble rocket. Black holes don’t break up.”

“You’re not making getting to sleep any easier for me.”

“Understood. Here’s the good news — the odds of us encountering anything like that are gazillions‑to‑one against. Consider the probabilities. If your beast exists I don’t think it would be an asteroid or even from the Kuiper Belt. Something as exotic as a primordial black hole or a mostly‑evaporated stellar black hole couldn’t have been part of the Solar System’s initial dust cloud, therefore it wouldn’t have been gathered into the Solar System’s ecliptic plane. It could have been part of the Oort cloud debris or maybe even flown in on a hyperbolic orbit from far, far away like ‘Oumuamua did. Its orbit could be along any of an infinite number of orientations away from Earth’s orbit. But it gets better.”

“I’ll take all the improvement you can give me.”

“Its orbital period is probably thousands of years long or never.”

“What difference does that make?”

“You’ve got to be in the right place at the right time to collide. Earth is 4.5 billion years old. Something with a 100‑year orbit would have had millions of chances to pass through a spot we happen to occupy. An outsider like ‘Oumuamua would have only one. We can even figure odds on that. It’s like a horseshoe game where close enough is good enough. The object doesn’t have to hit Earth right off, it only has to pierce our Hill Sphere.”

“Hill Sphere?”

“A Hill Sphere is a mathematical abstract like an Event Horizon. Inside a planet’s Sphere any nearby object feels a greater attraction to the planet than to its star. Velocities permitting, a collision may ensue. The Sphere’s radius depends only on the average planet–star distance and the planet and star masses. Earth’s Hill Sphere radius is 1.5 million kilometers. Visualize Hill Spheres crowded all along Earth’s orbit. If the interloper traverses any Sphere other than the one we’re in, we survive. It has 1 chance out of 471 . Multiply 471 by 100 spheres sunward and an infinity outward. We’ve got a guaranteed win.”

“I’ll sleep better tonight.”

~~ Rich Olcott

A Tug at The Ol’ Gravity Strings

“Why, Jeremy, you’ve got such a stunned look on your face. What happened? Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Sorry, Mr Moire. I guess I’ve been thinking too much about this science fiction story I just read. Which gelato can I scoop for you?”

“Two dips of mint, in a cup. Eddie went heavy with the garlic on my pizza this evening. What got to you in the story?”

“The central plot device. Here’s your gelato. In the story, someone locates a rogue black hole hiding in the asteroid belt. Tiny, maybe a few thousandths of a millimeter across, but awful heavy. A military‑industrial combine uses a space tug to tow it to Earth orbit for some kind of energy source, but their magnetic grapple slips and the thing falls to Earth. Except it doesn’t just fall to Earth, it’s so small it falls into Earth and now it’s orbiting inside, eating away the core until everything crumbles in. I can’t stop thinking about that.”

“Sounds pretty bad, but it might help if we run the numbers.” <drawing Old Reliable from its holster> “First thing — Everything about a black hole depends on its mass, so just how massive is this one?” <tapping on Old Reliable’s screen with gelato spoon> “For round numbers let’s say its diameter is 0.002 millimeter. The Schwartzschild ‘radius’ r is half that. Solve Schwartschild’s r=2GM/c² equation for the mass … plug in that r‑value … mass is 6.7×1020 kilograms. That’s about 1% of the Moon’s mass. Heavy indeed. How did they find this object?”

“The story didn’t say. Probably some asteroid miner stumbled on it.”

“Darn lucky stumble, something only a few microns across. Not likely to transit the Sun or block light from any stars unless you’re right on top of it. Radiation from its accretion disk? Depends on the history — there’s a lot of open space in the asteroid belt but just maybe the beast encountered enough dust to form one. Probably not, though. Wait, how about Hawking radiation?”

“Oh, right, Stephen Hawking’s quantum magic trick that lets a black hole radiate light from just outside its Event Horizon. Does Old Reliable have the formulas for that?”

“Sure. From Hawking’s work we know the object’s temperature and that gives us its blackbody spectrum, then we’ve got the Bekenstein‑Hawking equation for the power it radiates. Mind you, the spectrum will be red‑shifted to some extent because those photons have to crawl out of a gravity well, but this’ll give us a first cut.” <more tapping> “Chilly. 170 kelvins, that’s 100⁰C below room temperature. Most of its sub‑nanowatt emission will be at far infrared wavelengths. A terrible beacon. But suppose someone did find this thing. I wonder what’ll it take to move it here.”

“Can you calculate that?”

“Roughly. Suppose your space tug follows the cheapest possible flight path from somewhere near Ceres. Assuming the tug itself has negligible mass … ” <more tapping> “Whoa! That is literally an astronomical amount of delta-V. Not anything a rocket could do. Never mind. But where were they planning to put the object? What level orbit?”

“Well, it’s intended to beam power down to Earth. Ions in the Van Allen Belts would soak up a lot of the energy unless they station it below the Belts. Say 250 miles up along with the ISS.”

“Hoo boy! A thousand times closer than the Moon. Force is inverse to distance squared, remember. Wait, that’s distance to the center and Earth’s radius is about 4000 miles so the 250 miles is on top of that. 250,000 divided by 4250 … quotient squared … is a distance factor of almost 3500. Put 1% of the Moon that close to the Earth and you’ve got ocean tides 36 times stronger than lunar tides. Land does tides, too, so there’d be earthquakes. Um. The ISS is on a 90‑minute orbit so you’d have those quakes and ocean tides sixteen times a day. I wouldn’t worry about the black hole hollowing out the Earth, the tidal effect alone would do a great job of messing us up.”

“The whole project is such a bad idea that no-one would or could do it. I feel better now.”

~~ Rich Olcott

The Situation of The Gravity

<bomPAH-dadadadaDEEdah> It’s been a while since Old Reliable blared that unregistered ringtone. Sure enough, the phone function’s caller‑ID display says 710‑555‑1701.  “Commander Baird, I presume? Long time no hear.”

<downcast tone with a hint of desperation> “It’s Lieutenant now.”

“Sorry to hear that. What happened?”

Project Lonesome was a bust. It took us years to assemble those two planetoids but getting them into the right orbits around the black hole was more of a challenge than we planned for. Planetoid Pine got away from us and fell down through the Event Horizon. One big blast of inforon radiation and no more project. We lost a few robot space tugs but all carbon‑based personnel survived. Medical Bay just now pronounced me healthy — it’s amazing what they can do about pervasive sub‑cellular damage these days. The Board of Inquiry decided no‑one was at fault but they down‑ranked me because I was primary advocate for a jinxed project.”

“Well, those 15-minute orbits were a gamble all along. So why this phone call?”

“You know how it is, sitting in Med Bay with nothing much to do. I was poking around and happened to read a few of the files you’re working on—”

“Which ones?”

“The Projects directory.”

“But those are client files I’ve encrypted with the latest technology.”

“Oh, please, Mr Moire, I am calling from the 24th Century. Upton’s algorithm for zeta‑function decryption is ancient history. Don’t worry, your client’s secrets are safe, although one of your clients may not be.”

“Whoa, say what? Which one? What kind of danger? They all seem healthy, look both ways before crossing the street, that sort of thing.”

“One of those projects is extremely dangerous.”

“Which one? The biometrically‑lockable archery bow shouldn’t cause any problems. The electric yoga outfit? I triple‑checked the wiring and insulation specs, they’re safe and reliable. The robot rabbit? Surely not. Does this involve lethal spy‑craft of some sort? I try to avoid military work.”

“No, it’s the perpetual motion machine.”

“Ralphie’s project? Laws of Thermodynamics and all, I told him that’s just not going to work. He insisted I check his blueprints to make sure nothing’s going to blow up. I gave them a quick glance, didn’t see anything dicey.”

“It wouldn’t be obvious, especially not in view of your primitive science—”

“Hey!”

“No offense intended, Mr Moire, but it is primitive from my perspective. Two hundred years make a difference. Consider the state of Earth’s science in 1723 — Graham was still perfecting the pendulum clock.”

“Point taken, reluctantly. So what should I look for, and why?”

The Prime Directive applies across time periods, too, so I can’t go into detail with you. I’ll just say it’s not any one component, it’s the overall physical arrangement and what will happen when he powers up. Move the boxy bits closer together or further apart by two centimeters and the danger’s gone.”

“But what’s the danger? I can’t just tell him to reconfigure for no reason.”

“Directed gravity, Mr Moire, the sculpting of spacetime. It’s the reason we don’t need safety belts on a starship — we manufacture local gravity that always pulls toward the deck. In fact, directed gravity’s at the heart of warp drive technology. Cochrane stumbled on the effect accidentally but fortunately his lab was in a reinforced hard‑rock tunnel so damage was limited.”

“Anti-gravity? Oh, that’d be so cool. Flying cars at last, and sky‑cycles. Okay, there’d be problems and we’d need an AI-boosted Air Traffic Control agency. The military would be all over the idea. But all that’s way down the road, so to speak. I don’t understand how that puts Ralphie in immediate danger and why would a tunnel help?”

“Not anti-gravity, directed gravity. Gravity’s built into the structure of spacetime. Gravity can’t be blocked, but it can be shifted. The only way to weaken it in one location is to make it stronger somewhere else. Suppose Cochrane had first powered‑up his device on the ground in the open air. Depending on which way it was pointed, either he’d have been crushed between rising magma and down‑falling air, or…”

“I’ll tell Ralphie to re‑configure his gadget. Thanks for the warning.”

~~ Rich Olcott

  • Thanks, Alex, for inspiring this.

Symmetry And The Loopholes

“So, we’ve got geometry symmetry and relativity symmetry. Is that it, Sy?”

“Hardly, Al. There’s scores of them. Mathematics has a whole branch devoted to sorting and classifying the operations and how they group together. Shall I list a few dozen?”

“Ah, no, don’t bother, thanks. You got one I’d recognize?”

“How about charge symmetry? Flip an electron’s negative charge and you’ve got a positron that has exactly the same mass and the same interaction with light waves. OK, positrons move opposite to electrons in a magnetic field which is how their existence was confirmed, but charge is s a fundamental symmetry for normal matter.”

“Oh, right, charge is a piece of that CPT symmetry you hung your anti‑Universe story on. Which reminds me, you never said what the ‘P’ stands for.”

“Parity, as in Charge‑Parity‑Time. Before you ask, ‘parity‘ is left-right symmetry. Parity symmetry says you can replace ‘clockwise‘ with ‘counterclockwise‘ in a system and the equations describing the system will give perfectly good predictions. Time symmetry is about time running forward or backward. The equations are happy either way. The CPT theorem says the three symmetries are solidly tied together — you can’t flip one without the other two tagging along. If some process emits particle X with clockwise spin, there’s some equivalent process that soaks up an anti-X if it’s spinning counterclockwise. Very firm theorem, lots of laboratory evidence for it from electromagnetism and the nuclear strong force. But.”

“But?”

“But Chien‑Shiung Wu did an experiment that showed the nuclear weak force doesn’t always obey CPT rules. Her worked proved we live in a handed Universe. She should have gotten a Nobel for that, but it was last century and the Nobel Committee was men‑only. Two theory guys copped the prize that should have gone to the three of them. The theory guys protested but the Committee ignored Wu anyway. Sometimes things aren’t fair.”

“Tell me about it. So the theory’s got a loophole?”

“Apparently, but to my knowledge no‐one’s found it. Some string theories claim to hint at an explanation but that’s not much help, considering.”

“Huh. Could the loophole maybe be an example of symmetry breaking?”

“Very good question. I think it’s a qualified probably but that’s a guess.”

“Sy, I think that’s the wishy-washiest you’ve ever been.”

“One of my rules is, when you’re going out on a limb be sure you’re properly roped to the tree. In this case I’m generalizing from a single sample.”

“You’re gonna tell me, right?”

   Professor Higgs presents
       the Higgs Bozo.

“Just the bare outline because I don’t want to get into the deep weeds. Back in the 1960s Physics was in trouble because the nuclear strong force particles that bind the nucleus together were found to have mass and move slowly. Strong‑force theory at the time said they should be massless and move at lightspeed. The theory depended on part of the potential energy varying with the symmetry of a circle. Then Higgs—”

“The Higgs Boson guy?”

“That’s him. Anyway, he published a three‑page paper showing that those binding particles aren’t controlled solely by the nuclear strong force. Because they have a charge they also engage with the electromagnetic field. Electromagnetism is a lot weaker than the strong force, but it’s strong enough to deform the theory’s circle into an ellipse. Breaking the circular symmetry in effect gives the particles mass and slows them down.”

“So where’s the boson come in? I thought it’s what makes mass for everything.”

“Absolutely not, probably. The protons and neutrons have plenty of mass on their own, thank you very much. It’s only those strong-force particles that gain mass, less than 1% of the nucleus total. But the whole story is a great example of how making a system less symmetrical, even a little bit, can completely change how it operates. We think that’s what drove the Big Bang’s story. The early Universe was so dense and hot it was a perfectly symmetrical quark soup — chaos all the way down. Space expansion opened successive symmetry loopholes that permitted layers of structure formation.”

<looking at hands> “I don’t feel unsymmetrical.”

“Trust me, deep down you are.”

~~ Rich Olcott

Reflection, Rotation And Spacetime

“Afternoon, Al.”

“Hiya, Sy. Hey, which of these two scones d’ya like better?”

“”Mm … this oniony one, sorta. The other is too vegetable for me ‑ grass, I think, and maybe asparagus? What’s going on?”

“Experimenting, Sy, experimenting. I’m going for ‘Taste of Spring.’ The first one was spring onion, the second was fiddlehead ferns. I picked ’em myself.”

“Very seasonal, but I’m afraid neither goes well with coffee. I’ll take a caramel scone, please, plus a mug of my usual mud.”

“Aw, Sy, caramel’s a winter flavor. Here you go. Say, while you’re here, maybe you could clear up something for me?”

“I can try. What’s the something?”

“After your multiverse series I got out my astronomy magazines to read up on the Big Bang. Several of the articles said that we’ve gone through several … um, I think they said ‘epochs‘ … separated by episodes of symmetry breaking. What’s that all about?”

“It’s about a central notion in modern Physics. Name me some kinds of symmetry.”

“Mmm, there’s left‑right, of course, and the turning kind like a snowflake has. Come to think — I like listening to Bach and Vivaldi when I’m planet‑watching. I don’t know why but their stuff reminds me of geometry and feels like symmetry.”

“Would it help to know that the word comes from the Greek for ‘same measure‘? Symmetry is about transformations, like your mirror and rotation operations, that affect a system but don’t significantly change to its measurable properties. Rotate that snowflake 60° and it looks exactly the same. Both the geometric symmetries you named are two‑dimensional but the principle applies all over the place. Bach and the whole Baroque era were just saturated with symmetry. His music was so regular it even looked good on the page. Even buildings and artworks back then were planned to look balanced, as much mass and structure on the left as on the right.”

“I don’t read music, just listen to it. Why does Bach sound symmetric?”

“There’s another kind of symmetry, called a ‘translation‘ don’t ask why, where the transformation moves something along a line within some larger structure. That paper napkin dispenser, for instance. It’s got a stack of napkins that all look alike. I pull one off, napkins move up one unit but the stack doesn’t look any different.”

“Except I gotta refill it when it runs low, but I get your drift. You’re saying Bach takes a phrase and repeats it over and over and that sounds like translational symmetry along the music’s timeline.”

“Yup, maybe up or down a few tones, maybe a different register or instrument. The repeats are the thing. Play his Third Brandenberg Concerto next time you’re at your telescope, you’ll see what I mean.”

“Symmetry’s not just math then.”

“Like I said, it’s everywhere. You’ve seen diagrams of DNA’s spiral staircase. It combines translation with rotation symmetry, does about 10 translation steps per turn, over and over. The Universe has a symmetry you don’t see at all. No‑one did until Lorentz and Poincaré revised Heaviside’s version of Maxwell’s electromagnetism equations for Minkowski space. Einstein, Hilbert and Grossman used that work to give us and the Universe a new symmetry.”

“Einstein didn’t do the math?”

“The crew I just named were world‑class in math, he wasn’t. Einstein’s strengths were his physical intuition and his ability to pick problems his math buddies would find interesting. Look, Newton’s Universe depends on absolute space and time. The distance between two objects at a given time is always the same, no matter who’s measuring it or how fast anyone is moving. All observers measure the same duration between two incidents regardless. Follow me?”

“Makes sense. That’s how things work hereabouts, anyway.”

“That’s how they work everywhere until you get to high speeds or high gravity. Lorentz proved that the distances and durations you measure depend on your velocity relative to what you’re measuring. Extreme cases lead to inconsistent numbers. Newton’s absolute space and time are pliable. To Einstein such instability was an abomination. Physics needs a firm foundation, a symmetry between all observers to support consistent measurements throughout the Universe. Einstein’s Relativity Theory rescued Physics with symmetrical mathematical transformations that enforce consistency.”

~~ Rich Olcott

Time And The Egg

I unlock my office door and there’s Vinnie in the client chair flipping a coin from hand to hand. If my building ever switches to digital locks he’d take it as a challenge. “Morning, Vinnie.”

“Morning, Sy. Been reading your multiverse series and something you said bothered me.”

“What’s that?”

“Back when you wrote up your anti-Universe idea that some other group had come up with first—”

“Don’t remind me.”

“—you mentioned how time going backwards makes for negative energy, like that’s obvious. It ain’t obvious to me.”

“Okay … Ah. What word keeps coming up in our black hole discussions?”

“Geez, frames again? Universes ain’t black holes.”

“Don’t be so sure. Suppose there’s a black hole Event Horizon that encloses our entire Observable Universe. An Event Horizon’s diameter depends on how much mass it has inside. Astronomy’s given us an estimate of how much normal matter our Observable Universe contains. I adjusted that number upward to account for the expected quantity of dark matter plus dark energy’s equivalent mass. When I plugged that grand total into Schwarzchild’s formula for the diameter of an Event Horizon, the result was about seven times wider than what we can observe. We could be inside a huge black hole but we’ll never know either way.”

“Whoa! Wouldn’t we notice a drift towards the singularity at its middle?”

“Not if we’re reasonably far out or if the drift rate is tiny compared to the slow chaos of intergalactic space. Mind you, it took us centuries to develop the technology that told us we’re inside the Milky Way and two‑thirds of the way out from the core.”

“We used frames for thinking about going really fast or being outside a black hole. Now we’re inside one or maybe not. How’s frames gonna help us with that?”

“Well, not the inertial frames where we compared relativistic observers, but the idea is similar. A traveler in an intense gravity field experiences slower time in its inertial frame than a distant partner does in theirs. Clocks appear to run weirdly if they’re compared between separate frames whose relative velocities are near lightspeed.”

“Yeah, that’s what we said.”

“Now picture two observational frames, one here in our Universe and one in the anti‑Universe if there is one. Time in the two frames flows in opposite directions away from the Big Bang between them. The two‑frames notion is a convenient way to think about consequences. Negative energy is one.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere. So give.”

“Well, what does energy do?”

“It makes things happen.”

“Negative energy does, too, considered from inside its frame. Looking from our frame, though, negative energy makes things unhappen. This spoon on our table has gravitational potential energy relative to the floor, right?”

“Yeah, you push it over the edge it’ll fall down.”

“But looking from our frame at a similar situation in the anti‑Universe running on anti‑time, an anti‑spoon on its floor has negative gravitational potential energy. We’d see it fall up to its table. Make sense?”

“Gimme a minute.” <pause> “Kinda hard to visualize but I’m starting to get there.” <longer pause> “Alright, you know I hate equations but even I know about Einstein’s E=mc². That is a square so it’s always positive so if E is negative then the mass gotta be negative, too.”

“From our frame all mass in the anti‑Universe looks negative. Negative mass would attract negative mass just like positive mass attracts positive mass here. Gravity in the anti‑Universe would work exactly the same way as our gravity does, so where’s the problem?”

“Gimme another minute.” <more pausing> “Suppose that spoon was an anti‑egg. You’re sayin’ when it goes splat over there, we’re gonna see it unsplat? Unsplatting uses up entropy. How about the ‘Entropy always increases‘ rule?”

“Right on the unsplat, wrong on the other. The full statement of Thermodynamics’ Second Law says that entropy never decreases in an isolated system. You can’t get much more isolated than being a separate Universe — no inputs of energy or matter from our Universe or anywhere else, right? From our frame, it looks like the anti‑Universe flipped the Second Law but that’s only because we’re using the wrong clock.”

~~ Rich Olcott

A Matter of Degree

“Wait, Sy, you said something about my matryoshkacascade multiverse, that the speed of light might not match between mama and baby Universes. How can that be?”

“Deep question, Susan. The answer is that we don’t know. Maybe gravitational stress at a supermassive black hole’s singularity is intense enough to birth a new Universe inside the Event Horizon, or maybe not. Suppose it does. We don’t have theories strong enough to determine whether the speed of light inside there would or would not match the one we have out here.”

“Talk about pregnant questions.” <sips latte> “Ah! Here’s another thing. Both my matryoshki and your bubbly multiverse are about spreading Universes across space. Neither one addresses the timeline splits we started talking about. Maybe I decide on noodles for lunch and another me in a different Universe opts for a sandwich, but how about one me that splits to follow parallel paths right here? Could a multiverse work that way?”

“Another deep question. Timeline splits require a fivedimensional spacetime. Want to talk about that?”

“Just a moment. Oh, Al, can I have another mocha latte, please, and add a dash of peppermint to it.”

“That’s a change from your usual recipe, Susan.”

“Yes,” <side glance my way> “I’m splitting my timeline. Thanks, Al. Ok, Sy, let’s go for it.”

“It’s about degrees of freedom.”

“I like freedom, but I didn’t know it comes in degrees.”

“In certain contexts that’s a matter of geography, law and opinion. I’m talking Physics here. For physicists each degree of freedom in a system is a relevant variable that’s independent of other specifications. Location parameters are a prime example. On a Star Trek vessel, how does the Captain specify a heading?”

“When they know where they’re going she’ll say ‘Set coordinates for‘ wherever, but for a course change she’ll say ‘some‑number MARK some‑number‘. Ah, got it — that’s like latitude and longitude, two arcs along perpendicular circles. Two angles and a distance to the target make three degrees of freedom, right?”

“A‑k‑a three dimensions of space. How about time?”

“All you can do is go forward, no freedom.”

“Not quite. Conceptually at least, you can go forward and back. Timewise we’re moving along a line. That’s a one‑dimensional thing. Combine time and space as Minkowski recommended and you’ve got a four‑dimensional spacetime. Relativity may serve us time at different rates but we’re still trapped on that line.”

“Ah, now I see why you said five dimensions. High school geometry — you’d need a second time dimension to angle away from the one we’re on. Ooo, if it’s an angle we could do time‑trigonometry, like the sine would measure how different two timelines get divided by how long it took to get there.”

“Cute idea, Susan, but defining time fractures in terms of time would be a challenge. I think a better metric would be probability, like what are the odds that things would be this different?”

A rustle of satin behind me and a familiar voice like molten silver. “Hello, Sy, I read your posts about multiverses so I thought I’d drop by. You’re Susan? Hi, my name’s Anne.”

“Um … hello.” Anne is kind of breath‑taking.

“Hi, Anne. It’s been a while. Funny you should show up just as we’re getting to the idea of a probability dimension.”

“Mm-hm, how ’bout that? Sorry, Susan, but time‑trig won’t work. I’ve got a better idea for you. Sy’s physicists are so used to thinking thermodynamically. Entropy’s based on probability, isn’t it, Sy? The split‑off dimension should be marked off in units of information entropy.” <giggle> “You haven’t told Susan your twenty‑dimension idea yet, have you?”

“Anne, you’ve always been too fast for me. Susan, the Physics we have so far still has about twenty fundamental constants — numbers like the speed of light — whose values we can’t explain in our best models of how things work. Think of each as a coordinate in a twenty‑plus‑four-dimensional hyper‑Universe. The Anthropic Principle says we and my entire bubble Universe happen to be at the twenty‑way intersection where those coordinates are just right for life to exist. Each of your matryoshki Universes may or may not be there. “

“Lucky, aren’t we?”

~~ Rich Olcott

So Many Lunches

<shudder> “I don’t like Everett’s Many Worlds multiverse, Sy. When I think of all those A‑B entanglements throughout space I just see history as this enormous cable with an exponentially growing number of strands and it keeps getting thicker and more massive. Besides, that’s all about observations at the micro level and I don’t see how it can build up to make two me’s enjoying our different lunches.”

“Most physicists agree with you, Susan, although there have been entire conferences devoted to arguments for, against and about it. His proposal does solve several known problems associated with other interpretations of quantum mechanics but it raises some of its own. To my mind, it just tastes bad. How about another multiverse idea?”

“Is it as cumbersome as that one?”

“Well, it still involves infinity, but probably a smaller one. I think the best way to describe it is to start with black holes. Each one has a region at its geometric center where spacetime is under such stress that we don’t have the physics to understand what’s going on in there. You with me?”

“So far. I’ve read some of your posts about them.”

“Cool. Anyway, one conjecture that’s been floating around is that maybe, especially for the supermassive black holes, the energy stress is so high that Nature relieves it by generating a new blister of spacetime. The blister would be inside the Event Horizon so it’s completely isolated from our Universe. Visualize one of those balloon artists who twists a patch on the surface of a blown-up balloon and suddenly it grows a new bubble there.”

“Like yeast budding new yeastlets?”

“That’s the idea, except these spacetime buds would be rooted inside our Universe like a yeast cell’s internal vesicles rather than budding from the cell’s surface. Because it’s isolated, each bud acts as an independent Universe.”

“But Hubble has shown us a trillion galaxies. If there’s a supermassive black hole at the center of nearly every galaxy…”

“Yup, lots of Universes. But it gets better—”

“I see where you’re going. Each baby Universe can have its own collection of black holes so you can have a cascade of Universes inside Universes like a matryoshka doll. Except the people in each one think theirs is the size of a whole Universe. If there are people there.”

“All of that’s possibly true, assuming there are baby Universes and they have the same physical laws and constants that we do. The speed of light could be different or something. Anyway, I was going to a less exotic scheme. The Observable Universe is the space that contains all the light that’s been directed towards us since the Big Bang 13.7 billion years ago. Thanks to the expansion of the Universe, it’s now a sphere 93 billion lightyears in diameter. Think of it as a big bubble, okay?”

“Mm-hm. You’re thinking about what’s outside that bubble?”

“Mm-hm. Of course light and information from outside haven’t had time to get to us so we have no chance of observing what’s out there and vice‑versa. Do you agree it’s reasonable to assume it’s all just more of the same?”

“Sure.”

“Well then, it must also be reasonable to assume that our observability bubble is surrounded by other observability bubbles and they’re surrounded by more bubbles and so on. The question is, does that go on infinitely far or is there an outermost shell?”

“By definition there’s no way to know for sure.”

“True, but it makes a difference when we’re thinking about the multiverse. If there’s only a finite number of bubbles, even if it’s a big number, then there’s a vanishingly small chance that any of them duplicates ours. No copies of you trying to decide between noodles for lunch or a sandwich. If the number is infinite, though, some cosmologists insist that our bubble in general and you in particular must be duplicated not just once but an infinite number of times. Some of you go for noodles, some for sandwiches, some maybe opt for pizza. All in the same consistent Universe but disconnected from each other by distance and by light’s universal speed limit. Does that count as a multiverse?”

~~ Rich Olcott