2016年2月29日 星期一
Julius Caesar and Leap Days
Don Williams
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DoD Picks Two RD-180 Replacement Efforts
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February 29, 2016
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What's up in solar system exploration: March 2016 edition
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NASA Begins Work to Build a Quieter Supersonic Passenger Jet
February 29, 2016
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Different Worlds
Leap Days Explained!
This article is a modified and updated version of one I wrote in — oddly enough — 2008 and then updated for 2012. Barring a colossal asteroid impact or a Trump presidency, I’ll probably be around to do it in 2016, too. But not 2200. Even if my floating head in a jar is still around, it won’t matter, as you’ll see if you read on.
Note: This post has math in it. Quite a bit. But it’s really just arithmetic; decimals and multiplication. If you’re a mathaphobe, then skip to the end, but you’ll have to trust me on the numbers.
If you’re a mathophile and a pedant, then you may fret over my ignoring significant digits below. But in this case the mantissa is what’s important, since what we’re doing here is a variation of modulus math; the actual fraction of a day left over is what adds up, and it doesn’t matter how many whole days there are once the leap day corrections are applied to the calendar. So, I kept all the numbers to four decimal places (unless they end in 0), and ignore sigfigs. Yes, this leads to some roundoff errors, but over the span of time we’re talking here they don’t matter much.
OK, ready? Let’s do math!
When I was a kid, I had a friend whose birthday was on February 29th. I used to rib him that he was only 3 years old, and he would visibly restrain himself from punching me. Evidently he heard that joke a lot.
Of course, he was really 12. But since February 29th is a leap day, it only comes once every four years.
But why is leap day only a quadrennial event?
Why is anything anything? Because astronomy!
OK, maybe I’m biased, but in this case it’s true. We have two basic units of time: the day and the year. Of all the everyday measurements we use, these are the only two based on concrete physical events: the time it takes for the Earth to spin once on its axis, and the time it takes the Earth to go around the Sun. Every other unit of time we use (second, hour, week, month) is rather arbitrary. Convenient, but they are not defined by independent, non-arbitrary events*.
It takes roughly 365 days for the Earth to orbit the Sun once. If it were exactly 365 days, we'd be all set! Our calendars would be the same every year, and there'd be no worries.
But that's not the way things are. The length of the day and year are not exact multiples; they don’t divide evenly. There are actually about 365.25 days in a year. That extra fraction is critical; it adds up. Every year, our calendar is off by about a quarter of a day, an extra 6 hours just sitting there, left over.
After one year the calendar is off by ¼ of a day. After two years it’s a half day off, then ¾, then, after four years, the calendar is off by roughly a whole day:
4 years at 365 (calendar) days/year = 1460 days, but
4 years at 365.25 (physical) days/year = 1461 days.
So after four years the calendar is behind by a day. The Earth has spun one extra time over those four years, and we need to make up for that. So, to balance out the calendar again we add that day back once every four years. February is the shortest month (due to some Caesarian shenanigans), so we stick the day there, call it February 29th — Leap Day — and everyone is happy.
Except there’s still a problem. I lied to you (well, not really, but go with me here). The year is not exactly 365.25 days long. If it were, every four years the calendar would catch up to the Earth’s actual spin and we’d be fine.
But it’s not, and this is where the fun begins.
Our official day is 86,400 seconds long. I won't go into details on the length of the year itself (you twist your brain into knots reading about that if you care to), but the year we now use is called a Tropical Year, and it’s 365.2422 days long. This isn’t exact, but let’s round to four decimal places to keep our brains from melting.
Obviously, 365.2422 is a bit short of 365.25 (by about 11 minutes). That hardly matters, right?
Actually, yeah, it does. Over time even that little bit adds up. After four years, for example, we don't have 1461 physical days, we have
4 years at 365.2422 (real) days/year = 1460.9688 days.
That means that when we add a whole day in every four years, we're adding too much! But I don’t see any easy way to add only 0.9688 days to our calendar, so adding a whole day is understandable.
Where does this leave us? Adding in a Leap Day every four years gets the calendar way closer to being accurate, but it’s still not exactly on the money; it's still just a hair out of whack. This time, it's ahead of the Earth’s physical spin, because we added a whole day, which is too much. How much ahead?
Well, we added one whole day instead of 0.9688 days, which is a difference of 0.0312 days. That’s 0.7488 hours, which is very close to 45 minutes.
That's not a big deal, but you can see that eventually we'll run into trouble again. The calendar gains 45 minutes every four years. After we've had 32 leap years (which is 4 x 32 = 128 years of calendar time) we'll be off by a day again, because 32 x 0.0312 days is very close to a whole day! It’s only off by a couple of minutes, which is pretty good.
So we need to adjust our calendar again. We could just skip leap day one year out of every 128 and the calendar would be very close to accurate. But that’s a pain. Who can remember an interval of 128 years?
So instead it was decided to leave off a leap day every 100 years, which is easier to keep track of. So, every century, we can skip leap day to keep the calendar closer to what the Earth is doing, and everyone’s happy.
Except there’s still still a problem. Since we do this every 100 years, we’re still not making the right adjustment. We’ve added that 0.0312 days in 25 times, not 32 times, and that’s not enough.
To be precise, after a century the calendar will be ahead by
25 x 0.0312 days = 0.7800 days.
That's close to a whole day. Of course, seeing what we’ve already gone through, you would be forgiven for a sense of foreboding that this won’t work out perfectly. And you’d be right. We’ll get to that.
But first, here's another way to think about all this that I’ll throw in just to check the math. After 100 years, we'll have had 25 leap years, and 75 non leap years. That's a total of
(25 leap years x 366 days/leap year) + (75 years x 365 days/year) = 36,525 calendar days.
But in reality we've had 100 years of 365.2422 days, or 36,524.22 days. So now we're off by
36,525 - 36524.22 = .78 days
which, within roundoff errors, is the same number I got above. Woohoo. The math works.
Where was I? Oh, right. So, after 100 years the calendar has gained over ¾ of a day on the physical number of days in a year when we add in a whole day every four years. That means we have to stop the calendar and let the spin of the Earth catch up. To do this, once per century we don't add in a leap day.
To make it simpler (because yegads we need to), we only do this in years divisible by 100. So the years 1700, 1800, and 1900 were not leap years. We didn't add an extra day, and the calendar edged that much closer to matching reality.
But notice, he says chuckling evilly, that I didn't mention the year 2000. Why not?
Because as I said a moment ago, even this latest step isn't quite enough. Remember, after 100 years, the calendar still isn't off by a whole number. It's ahead by 0.7800 days. So when we subtract a day by not having leap year every century, we're overcompensating; we're subtracting too much. We're behind now, by
1 - 0.7800 days = 0.2200 days.
Arg! So every 100 years, the calendar lags behind by 0.22 days. If you're ahead of me here (and really, I can barely keep up with myself at this point), you might say “Hey! That number, if multiplied by 5, is very close to a whole day! So we should put the leap day back in every 500 years, and then the calendar will be very close to being right again!”
What can I say? You are clearly very smart and a logical thinker. Sadly, the people in charge of calendars are not you. They went a different route.
How? Instead of adding a leap day back in every 500 years, they decided to add it in every 400 years! Why? Well, in general, if there’s a more difficult way to do something, that's how it’ll be done.
So, after 400 years, we've messed up the calendar by 0.22 days four times (once every 100 years for 400 years), and after four centuries the calendar is behind by
4 x 0.22 days = 0.88 days.
That's close to a whole day, so let’s run with it. That means every 400 years we can add February 29th magically back into the calendar, and once again the calendar is marginally closer to being accurate.
As a check, let’s do the math a different way. Right up until February of the last year in a 400 year cycle, we’ve had 303 non-leap years, and 96 leap years (remember, we’re not counting the 400th year just yet).
(96 leap years x 366 days/leap year) + (303 years x 365 days/year) = 145,731 calendar days.
If we then don’t make the 400th year a leap year, we add in 365 more days to get a total of 146,096 days.
But we've really had
400 x 365.2422 days = 146,096.88 days.
So I was right! After 400 years we’re behind by 0.88 days, so we break the “every 100 years” rule to add in a whole day every 400 years, and the calendar is much closer to being on schedule.
We can see the remainder is 0.88 days, which checks with the previous calculation, and so I'm confident I've done this right. (phew)
But I can’t let this go. I have to point out that even after all this the calendar's still not completely accurate at this point, because now we're ahead again. We've added a whole day every 400 years, when we should have added only 0.88 days, so we're ahead now by
1 - 0.88 days = 0.12 days.
The funny thing is, no one worries about that. There is no official rule for leap days with cycles bigger than 400 years. I think this is extremely ironic, because if we took one more step we can make the calendar extremely accurate. How?
The amount we are off every 400 years is almost exactly 1/8th of a day! So after 3200 years, we've had 8 of those 400 year cycles, so we're ahead by
8 x 0.12 days = 0.96 days.
If we then left leap day off the calendars again every 3200 years, we'd only be behind by 0.04 days! That’s way better than any other adjustment we’ve made so far (it’s good to lees than a minute). I can't believe we stopped making fixes at the 400 year cycle.
But, still, yay, we're done! We can now, finally, see how the Leap Year Rule works:
What to do to figure out if it's a leap year or not:
We add a leap day every 4 years, except for every 100 years, except for every 400 years.
In other words...
If the year is divisible by 4, then it's a leap year, UNLESS
it's also divisible by 100, then it's not a leap year, UNLESS FURTHER
the year is divisible by 400, then it is a leap year.
So 1996 was a leap year, but 1997, 1998, and 1999 were not. 2000 was a leap year, because even though it is divisible by 100 it's also divisible by 400.
1700, 1800, and 1900 were not leap years, but 2000 was. 2100 won't be, nor 2200, nor 2300. But 2400 will be.
This whole 400-year thingy was started in the year 1582 by Pope Gregory XIII. That's close enough to the year 1600 (which was a leap year!), so in my book, the year 4800 should not be a leap year, and then the calendar will be off by less than a minute compared to Earth’s spin. That’s impressive.
But who listens to me? If you've made it this far without blowing out your cerebrum, then I guess you listen to me. All this is fun, in my opinion, and if you’re still with me here then you know as much about leap years as I do.
Which is probably too much. All you really need to know is that this year, 2016, is a leap year, and we'll have plenty more for some time. You can go through my math and check me if you'd like...
Or you can just believe me. Call it a leap of faith.
Bonus: We ran a video yesterday simplifying this whole thing down to me shouting numbers at you for three minutes. Enjoy:
*Yes, the month is based on the cycles of the Moon, but there is no real definition for “month”; which is why they’re all over the place in terms of length.
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Meet LightSail 2, The Planetary Society's new solar sailing CubeSat
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2016年2月28日 星期日
IC 1848: The Soul Nebula
Why Do We Have Leap Days?
Usually, there are only four Mondays in February. But this year’s February is weird*: It’ll have five Mondays.
Why?
It’s leap year!
A lot of folks get confused on why exactly we even have leap years. The answer is simple.
Wait! No it’s not! It’s actually a mess. But together with the good folks at Slate I have tried to simplify it for you in video form:
See? Now, in that video I skipped a few things, and rounded the numbers a lot to make it easier to grasp. If you want the details — and it’s math, so it’s fun, and you do — wait until tomorrow, and I’ll have an article up with lots of details. You’ll be glad you have an extra day this month to figure it all out.
* You know what’s weirder than having five Mondays in February? Having that first “r” in “February”.
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2016年2月27日 星期六
Northern Pluto
Commenting System Issues
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More Inbred Space Advocate Choir Practice
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Saturnian Shadowplay
I love Cassini shots of Saturn that make me do a double-take.
The image above (taken on Feb. 11, 2016) is a little confusing, isn’t it? It took me a second to figure it out, but then it clicked into place. What you’re seeing is a narrow-angle shot of Saturn’s rings (seen as the lines going from slightly upper left to lower right). The rings aren’t opaque, but actually translucent. In this show we can see through them to the cloud tops of Saturn below, where the rings are casting a shadow (the fainter arcs going from lower left to upper right). They’re curved because the shadows are cast onto the curved “surface” of Saturn, distorting them.
This image, taken in 2014, might help:
Cool, eh? And all this wasn’t even the reason the newer shot was taken! If you look in the gap in the rings, just to the left of center in the image, you’ll see a tiny dot. That’s the moon Pan, the actual target of this observation! The rings and shadowplay are just happy bonuses. Pan orbits Saturn in the Encke Gap, a 325-km-wide band in the rings where Pan’s gravity has ejected most of the small icy ring particles.
Saturn is weird. Its rings are weird. Its moons are weird. Everything about it is weird.
That’s one of the reasons I love it.
Tip o' the RTG to Riding With Robots.
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2016年2月26日 星期五
The Tarantula Nebula
Review: "The Last Man on The Moon"
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NASA Astronaut Scott Kelly, Researchers Available to Discuss One-Year Mission
February 26, 2016
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Good News: Its A Perfectly Safe NASA-STD-Gorilla.Suit
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Curiosity Rover: Design, Planning, and Field Geology on Mars
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Media Accreditation Open for Space Station Crew News Conference, Interviews
February 26, 2016
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Atlanta Students Bring Mars to Earth
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Hubble's Blue Bubble
Martian Weather Report: Scattered Clouds, With a Chance of Dropping Jaws
It’s another beautiful day on Mars! Highs in the lower -20s C, brisk winds from the southeast over most of Acidalia, low fog in Chryse Planitia, and upper-level orographic clouds off the Tharsis shield. Dress warmly and make sure that airlock’s tightly sealed behind you!
Oh, that Red Planet. Even after all these years part of my brain still thinks of it as relatively dead, unchanging, rocky and dusty, and just sitting there.
But that’s really unfair. A lack of liquid surface water doesn’t mean the planet is boring. It has an atmosphere, and even though it’s less than one percent the pressure of Earth’s at sea level, there’s enough there to support weather. Actual, real weather.
Don’t believe me? Then soak in this phenomenal animation of images of Mars taken over the course of a few days from orbit, showing the planet’s ever-changing meteorology:
The images were taken from Feb. 8 – 14, 2016, by the Mars Color Imager (MARCI) on board the Mars Reconnaissance Orbiter (MRO). This camera is designed to get wide-angle shots of the planet in order to keep track of its weather on daily, weekly, and even yearly timescales. It watches for water vapor and frost, ground ice, CO2 frost, and even ozone.
It observes the planet in two different wavelengths (colors) of ultraviolet and five in visible light. It uses what’s called a pushbroom technique; the detector is a rectangle that is very narrow in one direction but wide in the other (like a long ribbon), with the color filters bonded onto the detector itself. As MRO circles the planet, a color image of each part of Mars is built up in strips and can be assembled into a single color image. A lot of Earth-observing satellites use this same technique, and it was even used on the New Horizons Pluto probe to create a psychedelic animated map of that tiny, distant world.
This technique is pretty efficient; you can build a smaller detector which saves mass, money, and time. Do you have a flatbed scanner in your house? They use this method too! Incidentally, the black regions in the animation are due to times when the orbiter shifts its angle or loses data, preventing it from seeing certain areas at different times.
I love the views it gets, especially of the volcanoes. Tharsis shield is a huge bump in the side of Mars, an uplifted region with three volcanoes along a line, and the giant Olympus Mons off to the side. As wind blows air up the sides of the mountains it cools and water vapor condenses, forming what are called orographic clouds. Living on the lee side of the Rocky Mountains here on Earth I see clouds like this all the time.
See the clouds running all along the equator? That’s called the aphelion cloud belt. The orbit of Mars is more elliptical than Earth’s, and when Mars is farthest from the Sun — the point in its orbit called aphelion, when it’s about 250 million km from the Sun, compared to 150 million for Earth — it’s significantly colder than when it’s closest to the Sun (which is at a distance of about 205 million km). That equatorial belt of clouds forms at aphelion, and may affect the Martian climate. As it happens, Mars is near aphelion now.
The folks who run the MARCI camera have a convenient map on their page to help you identify various geographic features. What else can you spot? You can also grab animations going back to 2007. Amazing.
And I can’t help but think: If we have this tech now, today, then it seems that the Ares 3 crew would’ve had even better forecasting equipment. Oh Mark Watney, how we failed you!
Tip o’ the spacesuit visor to Andy Britton and Kayla Iacovino.
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ISS Daily Summary Report – 02/25/16
February 26, 2016 at 12:54AM
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2016年2月25日 星期四
Highest, Tallest, and Closest to the Stars
Replacing Old Political Pressures With New Political Pressures at NASA
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One-year ISS mission draws to a close
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Pretty pictures: Cassini views of Titan's poles (with bonus Enceladus)
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NASA Administrator to Make X-Plane Announcement at Reagan National Media Event
February 25, 2016
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Mathematician Katherine Johnson at Work
Astronomers Find Another Small Icy Body Out Past Pluto
Astronomers have found an interesting new world orbiting the Sun — no, it’s not Planet Nine, but it’s still cool. Called 2015 KH162, it’s a small(ish) object orbiting the Sun far, far past Pluto.
It’s not clear how big it is. You can figure out an object’s size if you know how far away it is (which we do) and how reflective it is, a number called its albedo. If it’s shiny it can be small and still look bright; if it’s dark it has to be much bigger to appear as bright.
Albedos can be difficult to determine, but given the albedos of other objects in that part of the solar system KH162 could be as small as 500 kilometers across, or as large as 1,000. Either way, it’s much smaller even than Pluto (which, at 2,300 km, is smaller than our own Moon). It’s probably even smaller than Pluto’s moon Charon (which is 1,270 km in diameter). Still, given that it’s almost certainly mostly ice and rock, it’s big enough that it’s probably close to spherical.
Judging just from its brightness, it’s probably in the top 20 objects by size we know of so far out past Neptune. Not huge, but not just a bit of fluff, either.
The orbit is interesting. KH162 is on a fairly elliptical orbit that’s tilted quite a bit to the plane of the solar system (the major planets all orbit the Sun in essentially the same plane; if you looked at the solar system from the side it would look flat, like a DVD seen on edge). It gets as far from the Sun as 12.5 billion km, but at its closest it’s a mere 6.2 billion km out. That’s very interesting; that means sometimes it’s closer to the Sun than Pluto gets!
Not that they’ll ever collide. KH162’s orbit is tipped enough that their paths don’t physically cross.
It was first observed using a telescope on Mauna Kea in Hawaii back in May 2015. It was seen again many times over the next few months, enough times to establish an orbit — an object has to be observed many times to nail down the orbital shape, and KH162 moves so slowly that this took a while. It takes 489.6 years to orbit the Sun once.
In general objects out this far are called Trans-Neptunian Objects, or TNOs. There are different populations of them; for example, the Kuiper Belt is a torus-shaped region past Neptune where objects like Pluto and Eris dwell. Past that is the scattered disk, which has objects with more elliptical, tilted orbits. Over billions of years, some of these objects interacted with Neptune, and the giant planet’s gravity flung them into such orbits. I talked about this for Crash Course Astronomy:
I noticed something right away about KH162: Its orbital period is almost exactly three times the period of Neptune’s orbit (489.6 versus 164.8 years). That sort of simple ratio of orbital periods is called a resonance. This is certainly not a coincidence; resonances are common and usually the result of gravitational interactions. I talked with astronomer David Nesvorny, who studies how small objects out past Neptune interact with it, and he directed me to a paper he just published.
The details are complex, but the bottom line is that billions of years ago, there may have been lots of Pluto-sized objects past Neptune as well as countless smaller ones. If so, as Neptune scattered the Pluto-sized objects one by one, the big planet got a bit of a kick, too. Very time that happened it would have moved a tiny amount in its orbit (what we call migration). Eventually it kicked all those objects away, leaving just a couple (which is what we see, specifically Pluto and Eris). Due to the weird nature of orbital mechanics, many of the smaller objects in certain orbits would’ve been spared. This includes the 3:1 resonance; the orbit KH162 is in!
So it may be a survivor of Neptune’s wrath, in a lucky orbit that kept it away from the much bigger and more persuasive planet. How about that?
On the “how amazed should I be by this discovery?” scale I’d rate it somewhere around “hey, that’s pretty cool!” It’s pretty interesting. In fact, I’d say its discovery is important for two reasons. One is that we don’t know of many objects this size that far out — they’re faint, and really hard to detect. Every one we find is an important addition to the inventory, and tells us more about how the early solar system behaved.
But another reason this excites me is that it shows that there still are relatively massive objects out there left to be found. The scattered disk extends far, far past KH162, so there could be many bigger objects out in that region that are simply too faint to be found.
Yet. It’s a big sky, and we’ve only been looking for these worlds for a few years. KH162 certainly has a lot of siblings (including bigger siblings), and I have no doubt we’ll find many more.
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2016年2月24日 星期三
USA's Northeast Megalopolis from Space
ISS Daily Summary Report – 02/24/16
February 25, 2016 at 01:00AM
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Looking Ahead to A Post-Election NASA
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NASA Partners on Air Quality Study in East Asia
February 24, 2016
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Astronomers Solve One Mystery of Fast Radio Bursts and Find Half the Missing Matter in the Universe
For the past 15 years or so, astronomers have been collectively scratching their heads over Fast Radio Bursts, or FRBs: incredibly intense but also incredibly brief flashes of radio energy coming from seemingly random spots in the sky. They’re so fast—just milliseconds long—that it’s been very difficult to find out anything about them. Poof: They’re there, like a flashbulb going off, then they’re gone.
There’ve been more question than answers. Are they close by, or very far? What causes them? How often do they occur?
But now, after all these years, astronomers finally got the break they’ve been seeking. A new paper just published in Nature describes an FRB detected just last year, and a bit of sleuthing revealed its most critical characteristic: its distance. Turns out, it’s far away. Very far away.
The burst is called FRB 150418, so named because it was detected on April 18, 2015. It was first spotted by the Australian Parkes radio telescope as it was sweeping the sky, performing a survey to look for astronomical sources of radio waves. When the burst was detected, a rapid alert was sent out to other radio telescopes with higher resolution (and therefore able to better nail down the burst’s position on the sky). Within hours the Australian Telescope Compact Array was on it, pinpointing the burst’s location.
A day later, astronomers used the giant Subaru 8.2 meter telescope to observe that location in visible light, and found an elliptical galaxy sitting right at the burst’s position. They took spectra, determined the redshift, and found that the galaxy is a staggering 6 billion light-years away. That’s literally halfway across the visible Universe!
And right away one mystery was solved: (At least some) FRBs are not local. Not even close.
Follow-up observations found an afterglow, too, the fading light as the phenomenon decayed away. It took six days before it became too faint to detect.
What does all this mean?
The host galaxy of the FRB is an elliptical, which in general are old; no stars have formed there in a long, long time. That means whatever caused the FRB was probably not a massive star exploding as a supernova; those kinds of stars don’t live long after they’re born, and ellipticals don’t typically produce them. Also, supernovae tend to glow for weeks or months after the initial catastrophe, much longer than the weeklong FRB afterglow seen.
A more likely explanation is even more exotic: A coalescing pair of neutron stars. A neutron star is left over after a massive star explodes. The outer layers of the exploding star scream away, but the core collapses into a ultra-dense ball of quantum weirdness just a few kilometers across. If two such massive stars are a binary pair, orbiting each other, they eventually become a neutron star binary. Over billions of years, they spiral in to each other, merge, and form a black hole. The merger is incredibly violent and energetic, flinging out tremendous amounts of energy in a very short burst that may last only milliseconds.
That fits the FRB bill. And if any of this sounds familiar, that may be because there is a very close parallel here with gamma-ray bursts. They too are mysterious flashes of energy that were extremely difficult to nail down until technology got good enough to allow rapid follow-up. They were found to have afterglows, and studying those revealed them to be cosmological (very distant). There are two kinds of bursts: long duration, which can last for minutes, and short duration, which last for milliseconds … and which are thought to be due to merging neutron stars!
So it looks like at least some FRB and GRBs have something in common. More than that: They may be different flavors of the same kind of event.
But there’s more, and this part is really cool. As radio waves travel through the Universe, the ethereally thin amount of gas distributed through space changes them. The radio waves get dispersed, with higher energy (higher frequency) waves arriving a bit earlier than lower energy ones. It’s a bit like visible light passing through a prism and dispersing, creating the color spectrum, but the radio waves are dispersed in time, not space.
The amount of dispersion seen depends on how much stuff the radio waves pass through. But that doesn’t give you a distance; the source might be close by and passing through thick gas, or it might be much farther away and passing through much thinner material.
But with FRB 150418, the distance was measured independently. With the total amount of material calculated through dispersion, and the distance known, the average density of material between us and it could be determined. This can then be compared to the current model of the Universe that predicts how much matter there should be … and they got a match!
Why is this a big deal? Because the Universe can be roughly divided into three components: dark energy (roughly 70 percent of the total mass/energy budget of the cosmos), dark matter (25 percent), and normal matter (5 percent). That last bit is us: regular old atoms, neutrons, protons, and the like. We’re very much in the minority here.
The thing is, we only see about half the normal matter in the Universe; the stuff “missing” is thought to be very hot gas distributed between galaxies but is very hard to detect. The observations of the FRB seem to show that the missing stuff isn’t so missing after all. The radio waves passed through it, were altered by it, and that change was measurable!
So, indirectly at least, the missing mass has been found.
And we’re not done yet. Once astronomers got a toehold on understanding gamma-ray bursts, we found out they come in a lot of different varieties. The story behind FRBs may be similar; lots of physical processes can create a short, powerful pulse of radio waves. We may yet find lots of different sources for this phenomenon.
And I wonder … with the recent LIGO detection of gravitational waves from merging black holes, in the not-too-distant future we may have more sensitive observatories, even some based in space that could detect gravitational waves from merging neutron stars. If that’s the case, then we’ll see a lot of fields in astronomy coming together. GRBs, FRBs, supernovae, galaxy collisions (supermassive black holes in their cores may collide as well), and more, all being observed in vastly different ways. Think of what we’ll learn!
One of the most fun aspects of science—and there are plenty to choose from—is that the mystery of yesterday is the observational opportunity of today. And the solutions we find always lead to more mysteries. Usually those are on a smaller scale once a phenomenon is first cracked, but as FRBs show us, there are still lots of undiscovered things going on in this Universe of ours. May they never end.
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One-Year Crew Returns from Space Station March 1; Live Coverage on NASA TV
February 24, 2016
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Flying Through the Aurora's Green Fog
Did the Universe Have A Beginning?
One of my favorite aspects about science, and astronomy in particular, is how it allows us to pursue some of the biggest questions we can think of.
Why is there something rather than nothing? How did the Universe come to be? What is its eventual fate?
A century or two ago these questions were the province of philosophy or religion. But now we have observations, evidence, and mathematical modeling that allows us to pursue the answers to these questions rigorously. They’re now in the domain of science.
Scientifically speaking, the idea that the Universe had an actual beginning is relatively new, only about a century old. Astronomers discovered that distant galaxies are moving away from us, and that implies the Universe was smaller in the past. Rewind the clock all the way, and you get to a moment where everything in the Universe — all matter, energy, even space itself — was crammed into one point. Let the clock move forward again, and you get a big bang.
We can understand pretty well what happened even a tiny fraction of a second after that moment, but the moment itself we don’t understand, and perhaps cannot understand. It’s a cloak, a shroud, where our mathematics and physics break down.
We call that moment the beginning of the Universe… but is it really?
Cosmologist (and my friend) Sean Carroll discusses this with Robert Lawrence Kuhn for a PBS TV show called Closer to Truth, and as usual does an excellent job describing what we know, and what we don’t know, about this moment.
As Sean points out, what we call the Big Bang is a placeholder, a way to hang a sign on something that, for the moment, we haven’t quite figured out. Everything after we have a decent grasp on, but at that moment we wind up dividing by 0 a lot. But cosmologists are working on it.
I want to point out something he said, to clarify it a bit. At about 1:20, he mentions that general relativity is wrong. I think he was being succinct to save time; I’m quite sure he doesn’t think it’s wrong, in the sense that it fails completely to explain how the Universe behaves.
Instead, he means it’s incomplete. General relativity makes a huge number of predictions of how things work in the Universe, and every single prediction we have tested has been shown to be true. GR (as those in the know call it) does an extraordinary job explaining things!
But. It turns out that quantum mechanics, which we also know works extremely well, makes different predictions about some things in the Universe, predictions that contradict what GR says. This is a problem.
But it doesn’t mean either theory is wrong, just that there’s something we’re missing. The best analogy is to Newton: He postulated a set of laws of motion that work extremely well, but it turns out they work only if you have low mass objects moving slowly with respect to one another. If the masses get large or velocities approach that of light, Newtonian mechanics breaks down. We need a more overarching set of rules… and those rules are described in general relativity! Newton’s laws weren’t wrong, just incomplete. GR does a better job explaining things.
So there’s likely a bigger theory that covers both quantum mechanics and general relativity, but is yet to be discovered. When someone figured that out it will be a big deal, and in fact may solve many of the problems Sean discusses about how the Universe began, and how it will end.
So, what about Sean’s idea that the Universe may not have had a beginning? Note how careful he is to say he doesn’t know (he’s a good scientist!), but he hopes it doesn’t, he hopes that there was something before our Universe. If that’s the case, we may need to expand what we think of as “the Universe”.
As is usually the case, the Universe knows what it’s doing. Our job is to figure out what it’s telling us about it.
Postscript: I talk about the Big Bang model in an episode of Crash Course Astronomy that may help you understand some of the topics Sean discussed:
I also talk about the eventual fate of the Universe as well in another episode.
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Hey NASA: This Is The Droid You Were Looking For
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ISS Daily Summary Report – 02/23/16
February 24, 2016 at 12:58AM
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2016年2月23日 星期二
A Supernova through Galaxy Dust
This Is Why We Built The International Space Station
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Rapid Unscheduled Disassembly alert: SpaceX doesn't expect to stick Wednesday rocket landing
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The Two Tails of 67/P
I recently wrote about what we’ve learned from the space probe Rosetta as it’s orbited the comet 67/P Churyumov-Gerasimenko: its structure, composition, size, mass, and more.
And while the up-close-and-personal view is amazing, that’s not to say we can’t do some stuff from back on good ol’ Earth, too.
The image above shows the comet on Jan. 19. It was taken with the 2.5 meter Isaac Newton telescope on the Canary island of La Palma. The image is pretty deep, showing quite faint structures.
Most obvious is that the comet has two tails! This is common in comets. One is the gas tail, due to ice on the comet turning to gas and getting blown back by the fierce solar wind). The other is from fine grain dust that is pushed by the pressure form sunlight and falls behind the comet in its orbit.
However, that’s not what you’re seeing here! They’re both dust tails in this case—kinda—and they have very different positions in space.
The upper tail does appear to be aligned with the comet’s orbit, so that’s dust that’s been recently liberated from the solid core (called the nucleus) of 67P. But the lower tail appears thinner, and if you look carefully, you can see it actually extends a bit to the left of the comet head!
That’s a dead giveaway that we’re seeing a geometrical effect (the dust in a tail can’t get ahead of the comet). This second, lower tail isn't really a tail. It's actually larger-grain dust emitted from the comet last year, probably around March, which formed a cloud around the nucleus. Because the particles are bigger they don't get blown back as much by sunlight pressure, but the cloud does tend to flatten out over time. From Earth, this looks like a second tail, called a “neckline.”
This is all pretty interesting to me; I’ve never heard this term before with comets! When I saw the image, I just assumed one was a dust tail and the other gas, but appearances can be deceiving. I’ll note, too, that all of this is essentially invisible to Rosetta, because it’s sitting so close to the comet nucleus that it’s surrounded by this cloud; the light is spread out so much the cloud is too faint to spot.
You can learn a lot by getting as close as you can to an object, but it can help to take a step back and get an overview. Sometimes that’s what tells the tails.
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NASA, UN Announce Final Winner of #whyspacematters Photo Competition
February 23, 2016
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The Ice Fields of Patagonia
Gardasil Has Already Drastically Cut HPV Infections in Young Women
More good vaccine news! A new study published in the journal Pediatrics shows that the presence of human papillomavirus (HPV) has dropped sharply in recent years in young American women. Why? The Gardasil vaccine.
This is consistent with other reports, too: In Australia, HPV-induced cases of genital warts have declined since Gardasil was introduced, and HPV infection rates were seen to be dropping in the US as well.
HPV is awful. Two strains of it, HPV 16 and 18, are responsible for a staggering 70 percent of cervical cancer cases in women. HPV can also cause oral cancer, genital warts, and cancer of the vulva, anus, penis, and more. And here’s the kicker: About 80 million people in the US carry HPV, with 14 million more cases every year.
But we’re fighting it, and we’re starting to win.
Specifically, in this new study they examined the presence of the virus in groups of women from before the vaccine was introduced (from 2003 – 2006) and then after (from 2009 – 2012). They looked for several strains of HPV, including HPV 16 and 18 (as well as HPV 6 and 11, which aren’t as dangerous but which are also prevented by Gardasil).
For young women aged 14 – 19, the presence of those four strains of HPV (and some others) were found to drop by an incredible 64 percent overall, and by 34 percent in women aged 20 – 24.
That’s terrific! And we can do better; uptake (the rate at which people get the vaccine) in the US is still rather low. It should be given both to preteen boys and girls, too. I'll note my own daughter has had the full (three vaccine) course of Gardasil, and my wife and I are up-to-date on all our vaccinations, too.
The thing is, HPV is transmitted sexually, and in the currently screwed-up US sexual culture, that means even talking about such things is frowned upon. That’s bad, especially when Gardasil is attacked by people across the political spectrum*. Anti-vaxxers as a group don’t like it because, well, they’re anti-vaxxers, and a lot of conservatives don’t like it because they think giving it to young girls gives them a free pass to have sex.
But this is wrong. Anti-vaxxers generally are wrong, but study after study has shown that Gardasil does not cause all the woe and damage anti-vaxxers claim (despite some mainstream scaremongering).
As for the claim about Gardasil increasing sexual activity, that’s a) ridiculous, and 2) ignores the fact that boys should get it as well. Funny how that’s never mentioned.
But it’s a common belief. Worse, a lot of conservatives have pushed hard for abstinence-only education, which has been proven categorically not to work. In fact, that type of thing (like virginity pledges) tends to increase teen pregnancies and occurrence of sexually transmitted diseases. Why? Because teenagers will have sex anyway, and if they aren’t educated about it, they get infected and/or pregnant.
If HPV had a lobby, it’d be pushing abstinence-only education.
There’s some more (tentative) good news in this case, too: President Obama cut funding for abstinence-only education in the White House FY 2017 budget. To put this in perspective, we’ve been throwing away $10 million a year on this nonsense.
The bad news here is that I have little doubt that the GOP-controlled Congress will put that money back into the budget for the Department of Health and Human Services. It’s more than just a colossal waste, it’s spending money to enforce ignorance, essentially ensuring more young Americans get pregnant and infected with horrible diseases.
When you ignore science, when you ignore reality, the consequences can be grave. We are making solid progress on a terrible virus that causes a lot of terrible diseases. But like all progress, it must be worked at, fought for. We have the science to prevent a lot of suffering. We should use it.
* One has to be careful when talking politics and anti-vaxxers. This topic isn’t strictly left or right, though a case can be made for certain groups being anti-vax due to their specific politics.
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ISS Daily Summary Report – 02/22/16
February 23, 2016 at 12:58AM
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2016年2月22日 星期一
Fact Checking SLS Propaganda
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No, Apollo Astronauts Did Not Hear Strange Music in Space
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2015 Saw $2.3 Billion Invested in Start-up Space Ventures
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Virgin Galactic Unveils SpaceShip Two, Too
On Friday, Richard Branson unveiled Virgin Galactic’s newest rocket plane: SpaceShipTwo, called the VSS Unity.
Virgin Galactic is one of several companies that want to take humans to space. The flight plan is pretty dramatic: a large carrier aircraft called WhiteKnightTwo will carry Unity underneath, flying to an altitude of about 15,000 meters (50,000 feet). It releases Unity, which then ignites a rocket engine and thrusts upward to a height of more than 100 kilometers—the Kármán line, the accepted-upon but arbitrary altitude where space “begins”—with passengers experiencing several minutes of microgravity as it falls upward and then back down. It then glides back down to Earth like a plane.
To be clear, this is a suborbital flight, essentially up and back down. This takes far less energy and fuel than going into orbit, which requires speeds of 25,000 kph. But oh, what a trip! It's still a voyage to space, which is exciting, and I’ll note a lot of science can be done on such trips.
SpaceShipOne, the first generation Virgin Galactic rocket plane, was a test vehicle that won the X-Prize in 2006 for going into space, landing, then going back up again in less than a week. SpaceShipTwo is much larger, designed to carry two pilots and six passengers.
This is the second SpaceShipTwo vehicle. The first was successfully tested in 2013, but in 2014 suffered a catastrophic and fatal failure. During descent, the vehicle undergoes what’s called feathering, rotating the tail and wing assembly to provide more surface area and slow the craft. However, one of the pilots accidentally deployed the feathering mechanism prematurely, which broke the vehicle apart, killing both pilots.
Unity has been modified to prevent premature feathering. It will of course undergo extensive testing before powered flight; from what I can see Virgin Galactic has (wisely, in my opinion) not released an estimate of when that might be. Safety first. Incidentally, this is the first vehicle manufactured by the Spaceship Co., wholly owned by Virgin Galactic. The first two vehicles were built by Scaled Composites.
Suborbital flight tickets go for $250,000. That may sound like a lot, but there are plenty of people who can afford it (more than 600 people have bought tickets already). Also, that’s less than it would cost for a suborbital rocket flight for a scientific experiment, making this competitive on the university/government research level.
Private crewed spaceflight is on the verge of becoming a real factor in space exploration. SpaceX has already put uncrewed vehicles into orbit (and resupplied the space station) as has Orbital ATK. Blue Origin has had some successful flights of their New Shepard suborbital rocket, but as usual has not made public their future plans on when they will send up a crewed mission. Sierra Nevada recently received a NASA award for uncrewed resupply missions to the space station for their Dream Chaser spacecraft. Both SpaceX and Boeing have contracts with NASA to launch astronauts to the space station as well, and that may happen as soon as next year.
There have been setbacks, to be sure, but we live in exciting times. And proverbs be damned; exciting times are when I want to live.
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Three Times the Fun
NASA Astronaut Scott Kelly Talks One-Year Mission in Final In-Space News Conference
February 22, 2016
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Plunge Into One of the Largest Star Nurseries in the Near Universe
I hope you’re sitting down, because my goal here is to reduce your brain to a small pile of gibbering goo.
Luckily, I have help. Behold, the Tarantula Nebula!
Holy WOW. This composite image by Robert Gendler and Roberto Colombari is incredibly beautiful … and it’s not even anywhere near full size here. Step one in brain destruction is to click here for the staggering 6,000 x 4,858 pixel version.
Gendler and Colombari combined data from Hubble and the Widefield Imager on the 2.2 meter MPG/ESO in Chile, and data Gendler took using a 37 cm telescope located in Australia to create this phenomenal photograph. Overall, the combination is very nearly seamless (if you do look hard enough, you’ll see the edges where different telescope images were combined; a big hint is that the resolution changes). Hubble has observed this nebula many times, and the inner structures in the middle reflect the highest resolution Hubble data. Helpfully, Gendler and Colombari provide an annotated version as well.
The Tarantula is a gigantic gas cloud located in the Large Magellanic Cloud, a small satellite galaxy to the Milky Way, and one of the closest galaxies in the Universe to us, roughly 160,000 light-years away. That makes it an ideal target to study—close enough that we can get an overall picture of its structure, and still get very highly detailed images of it as well.
The Tarantula is one of the largest known star-forming nebula for millions of light-years around us and sitting right there close by for us to examine. Everything about it is ridiculous. It’s 600 light-years across, vast by any account—the Orion Nebula, a big cloud in our galaxy, is “only” 25 light-years across. Orion is visible faintly to the naked eye at a distance of 1,400 light-years; if the Tarantula were that close, you wouldn’t be able to cover it up with your outstretched hand, and it would be so bright it would cast shadows!
Where does it get all this power from? The nebula is churning out high mass stars, and they blast out energy at soul-crushing rates. Here’s your second brain-frying step:
That’s a section of the full-res image, showing the central cluster of stars powering the nebula. The cluster NGC 2070 is the clump of bright blue stars to the left of center. The stars you see are the most massive, luminous ones (fainter ones are far more numerous (probably by a factor of 100 or so) but are difficult to spot in the glare). Many of these are more than 100 times the mass of the Sun and millions (yes, millions) of times more luminous—near the upper limit of how big a star can get without tearing itself apart due to the furious energy generated in their interiors.
The heft of the cluster is beyond huge; the total mass in it may be a half million times that of the Sun! That’s so much that astronomers think it’s not a cluster so much as a nascent globular cluster.
You can see a knot of stars in the cluster center; that’s R136, and it alone has more than 70 massive stars packed into a region less than 20 light-years across. If you were physically in the center of that clump the sky would never be dark at night; many of those stars would shine as brightly as the Moon does here on Earth.
And here’s the third step to vaporize your synapses:
This is a section near the lower right of the image. The upper arrow points to Supernova 1987A, a star that blew up, literally* tearing itself apart in one of the Universe’s most violent events. The light reached us in 1987, and Hubble observed it as one of its very first targets after launch in 1990. I studied those observations to get my Ph.D.; I’m pretty familiar with this region of the sky. Yet the image here is so chaotic and confused that I didn’t even notice it as I scanned around.
The other arrow points to a series of bubbles called the Honeycomb Nebula. It was discovered by my friend Lifan Wang not long after the supernova light reached us; he was making images of the region to learn more about the region around the exploded star. The Honeycomb is comprised of perhaps a score of gas bubbles shoulder-to-shoulder … but it’s not at all clear what it actually is. Each bubble may be a cavity blown out by a young massive star as it blows a furious stellar wind of particles, but each is about the same size, indicating that each of these stars must have been born at the same time, all about the same mass, and all separated by about the same distance from each other.
That strikes me as unlikely, but we don’t have a lot of clues as to what’s going on here. A mystery inside a much, much larger maelstrom.
I could go on and on … obviously. There’s a lot to see here! If you want more—and you do—I’ve written about this nebula before. More than once.
And if you want to see other fantastic works by Gendler and/or Colombari, I’ve covered their images before as well. They’re very much worth your time. If I’ve left any of your brain left to process them.
*Literally literally.
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