Getting Started

DISCLAIMER: I am not a rocket scientist, merely an amateur that has read a lot of books. Any and all of the information on these pages may be incorrect or inaccurate.

But since I have yet to find a website like this written by a real live rocket scientist, I had to write it myself, as unqualified as I am. However, if I do put inaccurate information on this site, occasionally Internet readers will send me corrections. This is the "stone soup" method of website design, with me supplying the stones. Frankly this website is a glorified term paper.

There is some controversy over a few technical details on this site. If you disagree with something you read on this site, first check this page. If you still disagree, your best bet is to go to the Usenet newsgroup rec.arts.sf.science and the Yahoo group SFConSim-l and present your case there. If it survives both, I will incorporate your contributions.

Be told: since this site is so huge, and people tend to just look at one or two pages, I found it useful to repeat identical stretches of text on several pages. That way people will not have to jump around so much.

Carol Maxwell: "What makes you think you can discover anything? Who are you?"

Allan Maxwell: "Nobody. Nobody at all. But the secrets of the universe don't mind. They reveal themselves to nobodies who care."


The point of this website is to allow a science fiction writer or game designer to get the scientific details more accurate. It is also to help science fiction readers and game players to notice when the media they are enjoying diverges from scientific reality. Because sometimes it is hard to tell.

This web site might not be an adequate crib-sheet for media science fiction, but I'm doing my best.

SCIENCE FICTION CRIB SHEETS

I discovered the field for myself as a teenager (as did almost everyone else I knew—in school we were tormented with Wordsworth and Bunyan, while Clarke and Heinlein had to be private after-school pleasures). Knowing at the time a negligible amount of real science, I swallowed whole and then regurgitated to my friends everything presented as science in the SF magazines. That quickly built me a reputation as a person stuffed with facts and theories—many of them wrong and some of them decidedly weird. The writers didn't bother to distinguish the scientific theories that they borrowed, from the often peculiarly unscientific theories that they made up for the story. Neither did I.

I knew all about the canals on Mars[1], the dust pools on the Moon[2], and the swamps on Venus[3], about the Dean drive[4] and dianetics[5] and the Hieronymus machine[6]. I believed that men and pigs were more closely related than men and monkeys[7]; that atoms were miniature solar systems[8]; that you could shoot men to the moon with a cannon[9] (a belief that didn't survive my first course in dynamics); that the pineal gland was certainly a rudimentary third eye and probably the seat of parapsychological powers[10]; that Rhine's experiments at Duke University had made telepathy an unquestioned part of modern science[11]; that with a little ingenuity and a few electronic bits and pieces you could build in your backyard a spacecraft to take you to the moon[12]; and that, no matter what alien races might have developed on other worlds and be scattered around the Galaxy, humans would prove to be the smartest, most resourceful, and most wonderful species to be found anywhere[13].

That last point may even be true. As Pogo remarked long ago, true or false, either way it's a mighty sobering thought.

What I needed was a crib sheet. We had them in school for the works of Shakespeare. They were amazingly authoritative, little summaries that outlined the plot, told us just who did what and why, and even informed us exactly what was in Shakespeare's head when he was writing the play. If they didn't say what he had for lunch that day, it was only because that subject never appeared on examination papers. Today's CliffsNotes are less authoritative, but only I suspect because the changing climate of political correctness encourages commentators to be as bland as possible.

I didn't know it at the time, but the crib sheets were what I was missing in science fiction. Given the equivalent type of information about SF, I would not have assured my friends (as I did) that the brains of industrial robots made use of positrons[14], that the work of Dirac and Blackett would lead us to a faster-than-light drive[15], or that the notebooks of Leonardo da Vinci gave all the details needed to construct a moon rocket[16].

As Mark Twain remarked, it's not what we don't know that causes the trouble, it's the things we know that ain't so. (This is an example of the problem. I was sure this was said by Mark Twain, but when I looked it up I found it was a Josh Billings line. Since then I have seen it as attributed to Artemus Ward.) What follows, then, is my crib sheet for this book. This Appendix sorts out the real science, based on and consistent with today's theories (but probably not tomorrow's), from the "science" that I made up for these stories. I have tried to provide a clear dividing line, at the threshold where fact stops and fiction takes over. But even the invented material is designed to be consistent with and derived from what is known today. It does not contradict current theories, although you will not find papers about it in the Physical Review or the Astrophysical Journal.


(ed note: here is my crib sheet on the references above)

  1. Astronomers Giovanni Schiaparelli described canali on Mars, which is Italian for "channels". This was mis-translated into the word "canals", which is English for "artificial waterways built by an ancient civilization living on a dying planet". This lead to over a hundred years of Martian based science fiction. All of which instantly became quaint and obsolete when the Mars probe Mariner 4 saw nothing but a bunch of freaking craters.

  2. Lunar dust that flows like thick oil was a deadly danger in Arthur C. Clarke's Earthlight (1955) and a tourist attraction in his A Fall of Moondust (1960). In reality no Lunar dust has deposit has been found thicker that what's on your monitor right now.

  3. In 1918 chemist Svante Arrhenius decided that Venus' cloud cover was water and said "A very great part of the surface of Venus is no doubt covered with swamps" and compared Venus' humidity to the tropical rain forests of the Congo. This led to about sixty years of science fiction set in the dinosaur infested swamps of Venus, until the Mariner 2 mission in 1962 revealed just what a hell-hole Venus actually was. SF authors assumed that Venus was at an earlier stage of planetary development than Terra (dinosaurs), and Mars was at a later stage (decadent dying planet).

  4. Norman Dean infamous "Dean Drive" was a bogus reactionless thruster. The fun started back in 1960 when the John W. Campbell (the father of the Golden Age of Science Fiction and editor of Astounding Science Fiction) decided to make some excitement by giving it free publicity. Campbell mentioned that a Dean Drive mounted in a submarine would make "instant spaceship", which lead to a few stories featuring this.

  5. Dianetics was a fake philosophy that unfortunately John W. Campbell also decided to popularize.

  6. A Hieronymus machine is a any one of several quack science devices that was also championed by John W. Campbell. A symbolic Hieronymus machine worked equally well if it contained actually electronics or just a paper diagram of the electronics. That actually was probably true: both versions did nothing at all but allow the operator to delude themselves.

  7. This is from a satirical science fiction short story called "Family Resemblance" by Alan E. Nourse (1953).

  8. The Rutherford-Bohr model of the atom was often popularized to the layman as atoms being like tiny solar systems, which is not quite but almost totally wrong. None the less it led to decades of science fiction stories starring bold explorers shrinking themselves to travel to atomic solar systems, e.g., "The Girl in the Golden Atom" (1922). "Worlds Within Worlds" said the Silver Surfer.

  9. This is featured in From the Earth to the Moon by Jules Verne (1865). The cannon won't work as described, but a nuclear bomb powered version might be able to deliver sturdy nonliving cargo into orbit.

  10. The concept of the pineal gland being a psychic third eye probably was copied by science fiction authors from the works of the notorious Helena Blavatsky. In science fiction this dates back a least to 1934 with H. P. Lovecraft's From Beyond.

  11. J. B. Rhine and his wife Louisa E. Rhine were the first to conduct science-like experiments in ESP at Duke University back in the 1930s. Thereafter science fiction authors featuring telepathy or other psionic power would invoke the name of Dr. Rhine for a thin veneer of respectability. Things got worse in 1930 when good old John W. Campbell became interested in Dr. Rhine's theories about ESP, and quote "encouraged" unquote authors who wanted to have their stories pubished in Astounding magazine to include a reference to Rhine.

  12. Probably a reference to Heinlein's classic Rocket Ship Galileo. Three teenage boy rocket experimenters and their uncle who worked on the Manhattan Project build the first Moon rocket.

  13. Human beings as superior to aliens was an iron-clad rule of, you guessed it, editor John W. Campbell. A story submitted to Astounding magazine featuring superior aliens would go straight into the garbage can.

  14. When Isaac Asimov started writing science fiction, the positron had just been discovered six years before, so it was new and trendy. Asimov thought it would be futuristic if robot brains used positrons instead of the old-fashioned electrons used by electronic computers. But he was careful to be deliberately vague on the technical details. Such is Asimov's influence that many science fiction authors assume that all robots have positronic brains (such as in the Perry Rhodan series, the TV show Buck Rogers in the 25th Century, and Lieutenant Commander Data from Star Trek TNG).

  15. In James Blish's classic Cities in Flight series the Dirac and Blackett equations led to the invention of the Spindizzy, a combination FTL drive, force field, and antigravity device.

  16. From the short story by Poul Anderson called The Light (1957)

From THE MCANDREW CHRONICLES by by Charles Sheffield (1983)

If you do not understand why space exploration is so important, just watch this video. Be sure to make it full screen.


Keep in mind that whether you are designing a rocket for your SF novel, or for a science fictional wargame, the ship can be the center of attention. Think about the proud series of vessels which formed the focus for high adventure. Vessels with names like Enterprise, Serenity, Seaview (yes, that's a submarine but the principle applies), Luna, United Planets Star Cruiser C57D, Space Battleship Yamato, Battlestar Galactica, Millennium Falcon, Fireball XL5, Polaris, Space Beagle, Discovery, Valley Forge, Dark Star, and the Nautilus (another submarine). And ships that never quite made it, like the Strategic Star Command Galactic Cruiser Leif Ericson. In many cases, the ship becomes a character in and of themselves.

The more real you make the ship, the more real the rest of the story will be.

If man survives for as long as the least successful of the dinosaurs—those creatures whom we often deride as nature's failures—then we may be certain of this: for all but a vanishingly brief instant near the dawn of history, the word 'ship' will mean— 'spaceship.'

Arthur C. Clarke, quoted by Hugh Downs, Ad Astra, Fall 2008

Introducing RocketCat

This is RocketCat, the official mascot of the Atomic Rockets website. Do not make him angry, you will regret it.

He has a habit of commenting on my explanations, using less diplomacy and more colorful language.

He maintains that he got his name from Elton John, not from any raccoon. He wants to make clear that any rumors about him actually being General Scarr of the Carnivorian Republic are totally unfounded. But he does get a little tense if you mention Ulthar. Among his hobbies are trying to get 1,000 cats to share a dream (which always makes me nervous for some odd reason). I asked him if his parents were Space Cat and Moofa and he just rolled his eyes at me. Which was not a denial.

His fur color is jet black, as black as the Boötes void.

His favorite games are Homeworlds, Ogre, and The Game of Rat and Dragon.

Romantically he occasionally dates a lady named Erma Felna.

But if RocketCat ever gets his claws into Alf, that pathetic alien life form is going to suffer as he finds inserted into one of his orifices a live thermonuclear warhead with one kiloton's worth of yield for each cat he's eaten.

You will occasionally see Sneaky the insouciant Cat lurking about the website as well. Don't tell RocketCat, the two do not like each other very much.

Rocketpunk Future

One of the species of "man-in-space" SF is what Rick Robinson calls "Rocketpunk".

Steampunk is now a familiar SF subgenre, set in a retro-futuristic vision broadly inspired by Verne and Wells. Among other things it requires a special kind of magitech, really magi-science, with things like aether ships.

Surely there is now a place for a retro-future based on the vision of 50 years ago (1957), on the verge of the actual historical space age. I will call this Rocketpunk.*

*I haven't googled it, but surely I'm not the first to have this idea, including the term.

Rocketpunk differs from steampunk in one fundamentally important way — Rocketpunk can use (largely) real science and tech — much of it the basic tech we still assume. The two main differences are:

1) Optimistic performance and operating assumptions, especially cost. The rocketpunk chemful SSTO shuttle, catapult-launched, looks like the never-flown Mach 3 Navaho cruise missile, and flies daily except in hurricane season.

It costs around $10 million to build, and a round-trip ticket to the orbital station costs perhaps $1000 (but pre-inflation dollars; a steak dinner in autoheat package probably costs $1.95).

2) Pessimistic (indeed, negative-handwaved) electronic assumptions, especially cyber-anything. The ship's computer takes up the deck below the astrogation compartment, and combines the power of my old TI-35 programmable calculator with vastly slower processing speed and incredibly cumbersome I/O.

Astrogators use slide rules for their real work; once you've roughed out a course you feed it into the computer and refine your flight plan to the second.

Everyone does not see everything in space, because your tracking telescopes require human watch standers who get tired and miss things. At most you may be able to review photo plates with blink comparators to back-track contacts.

Higher performance ships use fission drive, usually just called atomic drive — the reactor sometimes called a pile. Many smaller military ships are configured for atmosphere — also looking rather like the Navaho — and can fly directly from planet surface to planet surface. These ships typically have crews from about three men (very occasionally women!) to a dozen or so, and are about the size of large aircraft — hence the B-36 in Spaaaaace!

The Solar Guard Cruiser Polaris, on the Worked Example page of Winch's site, is pretty much a classic rocketpunk ship. In fact, his whole Atomic Rockets site — as the name suggests — sort of does double duty as a summary of current best information and a rocketpunk site.

That's the charm of rocketpunk — it's Realistictm technology, apart from the negative-handwaved electronics, but wonderfully naive about the devils in the details.

I think rocketpunk done today has to accept the real Solar System — alas, no thalassic or steamy-tropical Venus, or canals on Mars, but the Mars we know today goes perfectly comfortably with domed colonies, surface crawlers, and the first stages of a terraforming project.

And surely rocketpunk can have cool space battles, though tending to be missile-dominant — it's too late for heat rays (1898), and too early for lasers (1960).

Rick Robinson from a post on SFConSim-l (2007)

Those who are interested in Rocketpunk should explore Rick's blog, the Rocketpunk Manifesto.

Yes, this website does have a Rocketpunk feel to it, as you might have noticed from all the old pulp SF illustrations used as decorations. This is partially because I like rocketpunk, partially to make young readers aware that science fiction did NOT start with "Star Wars", and partially because it makes the site more entertaining to people who would be bored by dry pages with nothing but mathematical equations.

AND A STAR TO STEER HER BY

(ed note: More than any other story I have read, this captures the essence of what Atomic Rockets means to me. )


     It was a tough day for Garver when Tomaszewski lifted the Timurlane off Canalopolis (Mars) for Ganymede. What made it tougher was the realization that he was not going along this time (because after the accident, the captain did not want a jetman with a prosthetic hand). He loved every sleek line of that ship, and let his eyes take them in as her gantry moved away and left her standing alone and aloof on the pad.
     Garver knew what was going on aboard. Minus-15 minutes, red-green light, crew at flight stations, locks closed.
     At X-2 minutes, the siren on the tower shrieked, and red lights winked around the perimeter of the pad. Aboard the Timurlane, they were strapping down, the control panels were switched to “FLY,” the gyros were locked in.
     He leaned on the rail and went through the entire pre-flight procedure. When he saw the ground tackle drop at X-30 seconds, he began his own count-down. He was slow; when he reached X-6 seconds, he saw flame burst from the stern of the ship.
     She rose, the colorful Martian desert hills falling away from her. The thundering rumble of her departure echoed back from the red sands, and the trail began to twist as winds caught it.

     The regular routine of the Canalopolis Spaceport went on. Each day, ships would thunder in from the far planets, bringing heavy metals from the asteroids, chemical products from Venus, machinery and cloth from Terra, minerals from Ganymede and Callisto, and radioactives from Luna. They stood tall in their gantries while cargo lifts and cranes loaded them with Martian steel from her iron-oxide deserts. There was a ceaseless procession of ships, the tall freighters, the rotund liners, the stubby ore ships, and the sleek military vessels of Terra.

     “All personnel stand by!” the loud-speaker on the wall cut in. “Approaching ship in emergency!”
     They moved in a hurry. The bar cleared in thirty seconds. Although the League building was a good five miles from the nearest landing area, that meant nothing to a ship dropping out of the sky.
     Picking a spot near a deep irrigation ditch on the edge of the building’s lawn, they turned to watch the sky. People were scurrying everywhere. The non-spacemen were making for the underground shelters. The ground crews and flight crews who had lived around spaceships longer, merely took refuge under trucks, behind walls, or next to holes in the red soil.
     “Who’s due in?” Garver asked.
     “Don’t know,” Angus replied, making cups of his hands and scanning the sky near the zenith.
     Sunlight glinted off something high in the Martian sky. “There!” Garver picked it up with his eyes and followed it.
     A ship took form against the purple background. It grew as it fell. Then her jets fired with a flash of blinding white. When she began to hover about three miles up, McBee exclaimed, “That’s the Fafnir’s paint design! Vanderhoff must be having trouble. No wonder; she’s an old ship.”
     They heard the rumble of her jets a few seconds later, then the bulk of the League building hid the remaining thousand feet of her descent. The fluttery rumble died, and there was no explosion.
     “He got her down,” Garver breathed.
     “Aye, let’s go back to our drinks.”

     The League steward merely slipped him a sheet of paper, the standard job-offer form, with its brief message:

     Ship: S. S. Fafnir
     Commander: Captain P. R. Vanderhoff, F. T.
     Location: Landing stage 14, Canalopolis Spaceport
     Job Description: Chief jetman and power officer.

     Thirty minutes later, he was standing at the bottom of a gantry crane and looking up at a two-hundred-forty-foot pencil of power-packed metal. The dorsal fin displayed the words: S. S. Fafnir, Raketenflugplatz für Raumschiffahrt (rocket landing place for space shipping), Deutschland, Terra. One of the Ring Class, Garver thought. Somebody had undoubtedly misspelled her name on the commissioning papers years ago, but that was not uncommon; there was a ship on the Luna shuttle named Jabberwack.

(ed note: actually, no. "Fafner" was the way Wagner misspelled it in Der Ring des Nibelungen, in Norse mythology it is spelled Fáfnir)

     The Ring Class was a group of good ships, sound and well-built with precision parts made only as the Germans can make them, but old. The retracting landing jack on her ventral side dated her as well as the sharp-angled shape of her fins and landing wings. Her hull was pocked and dented slightly, but the black, white, and red paint design had only been scorched once.
     They were unloading cargo from the upper locks. Garver waited for the freight lift to come down, then rode back up.


     The power room “down under” was familiar. In this class of ships, the fission pile and jets were below with the pile controls and fuel pumps in the power room. The tanks, holding more than sixty tons of fuel, were above him and “forward.” The layout of the Ring Class power rooms was orderly and functional.
     But the Fafnir’s power room was a mess. Her floor plates were buckled with heat. The pile controls were damaged, out of adjustment, or just out of commission — period. The Number-Four fuel pump was frozen and leaking lubricant. But the tanks were tight as well as the lines, and the electrical system seemed to be in fair shape.
     All the tools needed to put things in working order were racked or around the rack. There was a hoist in the overhead. The ship could not lift in her present condition, but Garver could make her fly again.
     The place was full of smells that Garver didn’t recognize at first. Then, through the reek of oil and lubricants and scorched paint, he smelled something new. It wasn’t pleasant; the smell of cooked flesh was most prevalent around the jetman’s couch.
     Garver knew why Vanderhoff needed a new jetman.
     The blowers still worked, so Garver started clearing the air. He opened the hatches to let in light and air, then proceeded to pick up around the place. He’d just hung the remains of the acceleration pad out the hatch when Vanderhoff called him to come forward.
     The control room was roomy and comfortable. In her earlier days, the Fafnir had been a luxury ship, carrying a full crew of eight as well as pas- sengers. Vanderhoff had converted her to a cargo ship, for Garver had noticed that three of the passenger decks below had been stripped for use as cargo spaces. As a free trader, Vanderhoff had little use for passengers. Cargo was more profitable — providing the planetary markets did not fluctuate too much while the ship was between them.
     There were only two couches. Into the remaining space, the skipper had put a good deal of surplus Space Force gear: a ballistic computer, a prismatic astrostat, a small differential and integral calculator, and a precision novant (??). There was a large desk around one quarter of the compartment. Vanderhoff was seated at this, filling paper with figures and noting results in little black notebooks. He finally turned around, slamming a notebook as he did so.
     “How much profit on the load?” Garver inquired.
     “Damn little! Two ships with identical loads were in here three days before me. The demand was yanked down on me,” Vanderhoff complained. He pointed down. “Can you fix this tub up?”

     “What happened?”
     There was silence for a moment as Vanderhoff blew smoke. “O’Conner knew, but he’ll never tell us. I heard him yell that there was trouble aft before he went.”
     “Know the cause?”
     “Cause? ” Vanderhoff exploded. “This tub’s fourteen years old! That’s the cause!” He quieted down quickly and took several short puffs on his cigarette. “The only thing that holds this bucket together is the mortgage. In fact, the mortgage is so large it affects the mass-ratio!” He broke off and picked up a sheet of paper. “Still want to sign?”

(ed note: The captain is desperate, no other jetman wants to fly on a space-going junkheap, so even a jetman with a prosthetic hand will be hired)


     “Garver, this is Winch Astrabadi — ” Vanderhoff began. )
     “W. Winchell Astrabadi!” Winch corrected him, rolling down his sleeves.

(ed note: That character immediately caught my attention, since he has my name. Which is very rare, "Winchell" is usually a last name, never a first name. Not bad for an atomic rocket story written before I was born. Though I do find it a bit creepy when I read this story and keep seeing my name.)

     Vanderhoff merely glowered. “Winch Astrabadi,” he went on. “Sneak-current boy (electronics man) aboard. Winch, this is Rod Garver, our new jetman.”
     Winch stretched out his hand and grinned. “Glad to meetcha!”

     Winch climbed the ladder again until his head was in the compartment above. “Come on, Cosmo, boy. Time for chow ! Easy now ; you’re not in free fall!” He returned with a rangy yellow tomcat in his arms. Petting the mascot, he went on, “Cosmo, meet Jetman Garver.”
     Cosmo merely looked disdainfully at the new member of the crew until Garver reached out and rubbed him under the chin. The cat stuck his jaw out and enjoyed it. Garver was now on temporary probation.
     As Vanderhoff started down the ladder. Garver looked around. “Where’s the rest of the crew?” he asked.
     Winch looked at him impatiently. “You’re thinking we maybe need a bigger crew? The Fafnir ain’t no liner!”
     Which was true. Garver then realized. Vanderhoff, in the interest of cutting costs, had cut the crew to the bone. The skipper probably did his own piloting, all the astrogation, and handled the control room jetman’s job as well. Being “sneak-current” man, Winch undoubtedly took care of communications, dovar (doppler radar) and radar, and electronic control; which left Garver with the job of chief jetman, power officer, air officer, maintenance officer, and ship electrician.

(ed note: larger crews would include a cargomaster and a medic)

     Quite a job. Jetman on the Fafnir called for a jack-of-all-trades. With his experience, he could handle it.

     “Did it ever occur to ye, mon, why Vanderhoff signed you on?”
     Garver hadn’t thought about it.
     “I hate to be brutal about it,” Angus sighed, “but I take it you know what happened to O’Conner, his former jetman?”
     Garver told him he’d seen the power room.
     “Mon, you’re the only one he could get for the job. Everyone else turned it down flat in the dispatch room.” Angus lit his pipe, making quite a ceremony of it, then went on, “The Fafnir’s a coffin with jets. O’Conner’s the second jetman Vanderhoff’s lost. Ridin’ the Fafnir’s like sittin’ on an armed fission bomb, mon!”

     He went to work on the Fafnir’s power room with a vengeance. It had been years since he’d had his hands dirty in a power room, and he enjoyed it immensely. It was his work, and he liked his work; he always had. Within a week, he had the floor plates back in and the shielding tight. He put a coat of paint over the whole works and installed a new pad on the acceleration cot. When he got to the fuel pumps, he had trouble. His (prosthetic) left hand simply did not have the necessary strength, but he jury-rigged a number of hasty gadgets and got the bad pump unfrozen. The bearings and the impeller were shot, and he couldn’t find new bearings. He got away with makeshift ones by filing and cutting and filling until they worked. Over in the spaceport’s graveyard he scrounged other parts until he had enough to rebuild the entire pump.
     Vanderhoff was surprised one night when he came aboard after some papers to find Garver still in the power room. He dropped through the hatch and looked around. Garver was tightening lug nuts on the pump casing.
     “Say, this looks good, Garv,” the skipper commented.
     Garver grunted a few times as he tightened the last lug, then racked the wrench and sat down at the couch. “Skipper, a neat power room is just as important as a clean control room.”
     “I wish you’d been aboard for the last few years,” Vanderhoff sighed. “A man like you is hard to find on what I can offer.” He looked around. “How’s it coming?”
     “Can’t complain. I couldn’t find a lot of parts, but I made out O.K. anyway”
     “How’d you manage?”
     Garver grinned and wiped his hands on a piece of waste. “You’ve heard of the old jetman’s rules of thumb? If you can’t buy it, borrow it. If you can’t borrow it, steal it. If it doesn’t fit, force it. If you’ve got to hide it, paint it.” He turned to a group of controls over the couch. “You’re just in time to watch me check out the fuel pumps.”
     He kicked a switch. A low whine came from one of the pumps and rose up the scale. The power room throbbed and shook as the other three pumps joined it. As the pump pressure backed up against the injector valves, Garver checked meter readings then turned four knobs. The scream of the pumps changed key as the valves opened and allowed the test fuel, water, to pour down through the cold pile and out through the jet into the splash pit.

     In the middle of the third week, Garver had the power room in shape to fly again and turned his efforts to the rest of the ship. In spite of what he said, his heart was in his work and he did not notice the passage of time at all. He ran over every inch of the Fafnir’s two hundred forty feet, checking this and fixing that. He did not frankly see why Angus had called her a flying coffin. For her fourteen years, she was in good shape. She had been well-built by the successors of the hands who had developed the V-2.

     On lift day, Garver was up at dawn. He was not sure about the response time of the rod control in the “firebox,” the atomic pile. He checked it carefully, hoping the ship wouldn’t blow when he pulled the rods and opened the valves.

(ed note: in nuclear power reactors, the reactor is powered up by pulling control rods out of the reactor (the atomic pile). The author had no way of knowing that nuclear rockets would be powered up by rotating control drums in place inside the reactor)

     He grew more nervous as the day wore on. Twice he checked the cargo hold to make sure their load of steel was fastened securely. Going outside, he went over the ground tackle, making sure the magnetic clamps would not foul when they were dropped at X-30 seconds.
     It was X-45 minutes when he started up the gantry lift again and met Vanderhoff at the lock. “Secured below?” the stocky little Dutchman asked.
     Garver glanced down at the tarmac two hundred feet below. The splash pit was filling with water, and the ground crews were picking up around the base of the gantry crane. “All secure, skipper.”
     Contemplating the white sides of the ship, Vanderhoff remarked, “Well, will she lift, Garv? ”
     “I hope so.”
     “Aren’t you sure?”
     “I’ve done my best, that’s all I know. It can lift if it feels like it.”
     At minus-30 minutes, Garver saluted the jets in accordance with old tradition, then stepped into the lock ahead of Vanderhoff. Inside, the skipper turned to him. “Seal her up, Garv. Let’s take our flight stations.”
     Down in his power room, Garver made a series of hasty, last-minute inspections. He was nervous with that gritting tension of anxiety. His stomach was somewhere between his neck and lower ribs, and it was hard and mighty uncomfortable. Minutes ticked away slowly, each dragging into the next.
     At minus-15, he saw the red-green light wink on his board — prepare for lifting. Outside, he heard the siren shriek, clearing the ground crew from the area. There was a rumble as the gantry began to move out of the way.
     In control, Vanderhoff started the gyros at minus-12 on the button, and Garver began to change the ship’s atmosphere to the oxy-helium space mix.
     “All stations report!” Vanderhoff’s voice bellowed over the bull horn. Garver climbed onto his cot and picked up his throat mike. “Engineering secure! ”
     “ Electronics secure!” came Winch’s voice from the electronics compartment where he would remain until taking his couch in the control room at minus-2.
     “Preliminary circuit checks!” the skipper ordered.
     Putting his board on TEST, Garver ran a quick check of his power-room circuits. “Power room! Circuits clear and secure!”
     “ Electronics ready!”
     “Power room, energize your firebox!” Vanderhoff snapped.
     Carefully, very carefully, Garver manipulated the pile controls, withdrawing the rods a bit at a time until the pile had come up to pre-lift heat. “Firebox hot!”
     He heard nothing more as he watched his indicators. The power room was filled with small noises which were amplified by Garver in his tension. The temperature reached a plateau and leveled; the neutron count held steady.
     “Minus-5 minutes! All hands to lift stations!
     Graver adjusted his straps and laid his head back on its rest, his eyes on the panel overhead.
     “All boards clear to FLY!”
     Garver felt out the switch on his panel and threw it without looking, knowing by feel that it was the one to put his board onto the active circuits. His left hand felt out the pump switches. The adrenalin in his blood stream made his heart pound against his ribs.
     The green light on his board winked out, leaving only the red. Minus-2 minutes. “Stand by for lift!”
     The room was cool, but the sweat stood out on his forehead. He steadied his hands over the board. He kept thinking of what had happened in this power room before he took over.
     “Minus-1 minute! Start the pumps!”
     He nudged four switches, and the power room was filled with the incredible noise of the pumps. He checked back-pressures as the needles climbed out of the red segments of the dials.
     “Forty-five seconds!” The pumps were up to speed and the fuel pressure normal.
     “Minus-30 seconds!” The flick of a switch dropped the magnetic clamps of the ground tackle. The Fafnir was now free to lift.
     “Steady, now ... steady,” Garver soothed over the scream of the pumps.
     “Minus-20 ... 19 ... 18 ... 17 . . . 16—”
     “Come on, baby! We’re going home!” he whispered to the heart of the Fafnir.
     “10 ... 9 ... 8 ... 7—”
     He didn’t pray; it seemed useless against the radioactive fire below him. The ship was suddenly a straining entity of its own instead of a complacent fabrication of metal.
     “Five!” He threw a switch. A relay whacked closed.
     “Four!” Automatic controls, now out of Garver’s jurisdiction, raised the firebox temperature.
     “Three!” Another relay threw. The tank valves snapped open.
     “Two!” The pumps took up the load and shifted into main stage.
     “One!” Lights winked solid green across his board.
     “UP SHIP!”
     Final valves flipped open. The pumps forced the fuel. The Fafnir strained and broke ground, balancing incredulously on a slim pillar of fire.
     It was lifting; Garver could feel it, and he knew by feel. He was flattened into his cushions, and the skin of his face was drawn and tight across his nose. It was a labor to breathe. Vanderhoff was using an economical high-g lift.
     It felt good. He was going back into space again, back to Terra. He was going to miss this.
     The thundering subsonics of the jet faded out after a painfully long time, and Garver felt better although he was still pinned down by acceleration. The subsonics always made him feel queasy and light-headed.
     Everything suddenly stopped. Garver’s stomach hit his ribs. A green light announced, “Cut-off.” The power room returned to quiet as Garver felt his weight drop to nothing. It made him whoozy for a moment; he was going to have to take a bit to get his space legs back.
     “Hello, power room!”
     “O.K., control!”
     “Ship is in free flight. Secure your power room.
     Garver grinned. “Roger!” A swipe of his hand across the panel knocked the switches to “OFF.” From the port, he could see that the landing jack had retracted all right. He checked at all four bulging ports, floating to each in turn to see if the external assemblies on the ship were all right.
     Abaft, the ruddy bulge of Mars was receding slowly. Her canals stood out like inked lines. He could pick out Strymon, Cocytus, Triton, and Lethes as they rounded the girth of the planet. Hellas was brilliant orange while the north polar cap gleamed pure white. In the midst of the red sands, Syrtis Major’s splotch of green stood out in stark contrast. Mars was pretty, all right, but Terra is the prettiest sight to any spaceman.
     He checked the power room once more, set the air temperature, checked the line voltage on the ship’s generator, and put the smoke filter on the control room blowers. Then he went forward.
     Vanderhoff was running trajectory fixes from dovar data. Garver lit up a cigarette and waited, knowing better than to interrupt a skipper in the middle of a trajectory problem.

     Distances are big in space, and it takes a long time to get anywhere. Once a spaceship is in orbit, it is like a shell in flight; it will arrive at the other end of its trajectory with no further application of force necessary. So there is nothing for a crew to do but eat, sleep, make occasional checks of the equipment and course, and do routine maintenance. None of this takes much time, which is one reason why interplanetary travel is not for the man who gets bored easily.
     The crew of the Fafnir was used to it. They were spacemen, not tourists. They cat-napped off and on during the ship’s “day,” ate when they felt like it, talked, played cards, worked over their equipment, and spent a short time each day exercising with sets of springs to keep their muscles in shape. Two hundred forty-nine days in free fall will cause muscles to deteriorate, and they didn’t want to learn how to walk in a g-field all over again.
     Two months out from Mars, they were all getting well into the rut. Garver had read a lot of the books in the ship’s microfilm library, but went back and read them again just for something to do. Vanderhoff was writing up the log one “day” in the wardroom aft of control as Garver was finishing up “Men and Space,” by Groswald, for the third time. His arm around a safety line anchored to a bulkhead cleat, Winch was trying to get some sleep hanging in midair.
     Garver had just projected the last page when Cosmo, who was prowling around, found his rubber ball. A cat playing with a rubber ball is amusing to begin with, but put both the cat and bail in a zero-g field, and it becomes hysterical. Cat and ball went sailing about in all directions, rebounding off overhead, deck, and bulkheads. Cosmo turned flips in midair to get his feet “down” for landing. At times, the ball would hover in the center of the wardroom, spinning lazily on an axis, only to be disturbed by the flying handful of fur and claws. Cosmo was good; he had the knack of impaling the soft ball on his claws, thus preventing it from sailing off in some direction dictated by the vectors of a slashing cat’s paw.
     Garver and the skipper momen- tarily forgot what they were doing and watched Cosmo in his act. It was a welcome break in the monotony. The cat kept it up until he tired, then curled up in a ball about a stanchion to give itself a bath.
     “Cats are fine people,” Vanderhoff remarked, closing the log and lighting a cigarette.
     Garver gave up too and snapped off the viewer. He took the cigarette the skipper offered him. “You know, skipper, that display of Cosmo’s helps prove my theory about cats being an extraterrestrial race.”
     “You don’t think they’re native to Terra?” Vanderhoff asked in bewilderment.
     “Right. Look, they’re too well-adapted to spaceships, free-fall, and changing accelerations. They never get their directions mixed up; they always know which way is ‘down,’ ” Garver explained with a smile. “I think Cosmo’s ancestors either conquered space, or were symbiotes of a race who did.”
     “Tigers and leopards as well?” Vanderhoff asked. “ Same family.”
     “Yeah, but they’re merely mutations of the original strain, Felis domestica," the jetman went on, tongue in cheek.
     “I don’t agree with you,” the skipper said, watching Cosmo give himself a cleaning job. “I will admit they’re perfectly adapted for space travel. Cosmo keeps himself clean and does a good job keeping the ship the same way. Why, I remember once when we lifted from Terra with a load of wheat for Luna. Had rats. Space knows how they got aboard, but Cosmo —

     “You covld fix the landing dovar,” the skipper suggested. “It hunts.”
     “That’s my fault when the line voltage wanders with a load on it?” Winch asked in a complaining tone. “That’s out of my jurisdiction. Chew out Garver. The generator’s his plaything!”
     “What’s the matter?” Garver cut in. “Don’t you have any voltage regulators? ”
     “Certainly! You think I am not on the stick? My job begins where I take the juice off the line, chum. The fact that it’s four-hundred-cycle stuff is bad enough, but ninety jolts where I should be getting one hundred seventeen is too much!”
     “You’re smart,” Garver told him. “You’re an electronics man. Figure out a way to get what you want. I do the best I can, and the generator’s just not up to it.”

     Garver had flipped on the microfilm projector again, but Vanderhoff interrupted his reading. “What’s wrong with the generator, Garv?”
     Flipping off the projector to save juice, Garver sighed.
     “It’s a Red Queen’s race — just like the rest of the ship.”
     “What’s Lewis Carroll got to do with it? Don’t tell me he’s aboard, too?”
     The captain’s sense of humor was going early on this trip, Garver noted. “You’ve got to run like hell to keep this ship in spacing shape at all, and you’ve got to run twice that fast to make any improvements,” the jetman explained. “Lousy parody, but the generator’s too small. It was adequate once, like some other things aboard, but you’ve put a lot of electronic gear in this bucket. The generator can’t handle the demand.
     “Can you do anything about it?” Vanderhoff wondered.
     “Nope.” Cosmo’s ball drifted in front of Garver, so he pocketed it, adding, “I’d suggest a new and bigger one when we get Earthside.”
     The skipper heaved a sigh. “ Can’t do it.”
     “How come?” Garver asked. “I can find one cheap. You’ll be able to afford it if you make a fair profit on this load, won’t you? ”
     Nodding, the skipper replied sadly, “Yes, I’ll make a profit, but it won’t pull me out of debt. I’ve been caught too many times by falling markets, and I’m just too far in to ever think about getting out. Always an hour late and a solar short.” Vanderhoff thought back to the many times he’d been forced to sell his cargo at a loss because of a falling market. Whereas being a free trader, picking your own cargo, going where you want, commanding your own ship, all had their points, the chance that you might lose your shirt at the end of the trip was extremely sobering.

     It was a welcome sight when Terra grew close enough to appear as a disk in the ports. Garver grew impatient as the days seemed to stretch out. Winch had no trouble locating Terra five times daily now, and within a week, he was picking up the dovar beacons. The Fafnir finally streaked across the orbit of Luna, gaining speed as Terra’s field began to take effect. Luna was in opposition to the ship at the time, so Winch did not try to raise Diana Spaceport for astrogational information. But the dovar beacon on Asgard, Terra’s space station, came back strong when the electronics man triggered it, and the astrographical section there furnished him with the latest meteor counts and ionosphere data.
     The dovar beat began to climb up the scale as Terra’s field deepened and they picked up speed. Dovar, sometimes known as doppler radar, used radar’s principle of bouncing high-frequency radio waves off an object. But dovar, as it was adapted for spaceships, had one very important difference. Radar waves from a spaceship moving at very high velocities return to the radar set with a different frequency. Since it is nothing more than a standard doppler effect, the relative velocities of the spaceship and the body can be computed, just as it is possible to figure the speed of a passing train by the difference in the sound of the whistle. Thus, Doppler Velocity and Ranging, or dovar for short, could give velocity data as well as range by the mere expedient of comparing or “beating” the frequency of the returning wave against that of the transmitted original.
     During the initial phases of the approach, Garver spent his time in the power room. He was worried about those pumps, but he could do nothing until he had parts. He checked and re-checked. With Terra’s tremendously powerful gravitational field, going in and out of the planet was real work for any drive system. He just wanted to make sure the ship could fight its way down through that field and land in one piece.
     When the time came for the landing briefing, Garver went forward to control. Winch was calmly perched on the ladder to his compartment with Cosmo curled up in his lap. Garver didn’t say anything as the skipper was working with the astrogational computers again. When Vanderhoff straightened up and went to write in the log, Garver knew it was all right to speak. “How close are we now?”
     “Thirty- thousand miles, more or less,” Winch shrugged. “Close enough to see, at any rate. That I like.”

     “Sure does,” Winch observed, nodding, “Lemme bum a weed.” Garver fished one out and pitched it at him. The electronics man struck a match, waved it to keep it going, managed to light the cigarette, then held the match still. It went out; there can be no convection currents where there is no gravity.

     “All right,” Vanderhoff sighed and turned around. “How about it, Garv? Power plant ready?”
     Garver decided not to worry the skipper by mentioning the pumps. There was a good chance they’d hold, anyway, but Garver didn’t know for how long. “Secure below, skipper.”
     “How about the gyros? The gears looked pretty dry three days ago.”
     “I helped Garv put some erl on them yesterday,” Winch remarked.
     “Is all your gear in shape?” Vanderhoff asked. When Winch and Garver nodded, he went on, “O.K., we’ll go in with four normal braking ellipses. First pass at one hundred fifty miles. Take us about ten hours to kill enough velocity to get into the atmosphere proper. I’ll make a stall-and-fire landing. Garv, I want you to have those pumps up to speed when she pays-off.
     That was old stuff to Garver. “Right, skipper.”
     From the power room port, Garver watched Terra approach on the first pass. The bulge of the planet seemed to flatten out. The sunset line was right below, cutting through Siberia, across Japan, then south through the Pacific Ocean. Just the eastern tip of Australia was in sunlight. As he watched, the terminator disappeared around the bulge of the planet. They were having a typhoon around the Marshall Islands below. The clouds were piled up like cotton in the big low-pressure area. The Fafnir was in a trajectory canted about fifty degrees to the equator, swinging southeast across the Pacific. The perigee of her first pass would occur at the high-noon meridian over the South Pacific.
     There was a creak in the hull. The wings were beginning to gain a little lift in the rarefied upper atmosphere. Garver checked the skin temperature. It was high, but not bad.
     The ship was suddenly parallel to the surface below and tearing along at a terrific clip. The wings were really lifting now; Garver could feel himself being pulled toward the section of the power room which was “down” with respect to Terra.
     Then the surface began to drop away slowly, and he knew the ship had passed perigee. She was on her way out now along an elliptical trajectory, but her velocity was far below that of escape. She’d swing back for another pass in a few hours.
     He watched the coast of South America come into view, then went back and checked the fuel-line connections. He was far too worried about getting the ship down to be aesthetic and watch Terra go by. It was beautiful, sure, but he wished he were down on the ground now instead of tearing around in the upper atmosphere.
     Anybody can get a spaceship off the ground, but it takes an incredible combination of guts, co-ordination, fast reflexes, and high math to get one back — at a specific place. Berthing a spaceship on a planet is somewhat like riding around a merry-go-round on a coaster bike. The problem is to get on the merry-go-round with a load of eggs at one particular, predesignated place. This is merely a two-dimensional problem involving the essential vectors; bringing the Fafnir in was a three-dimensional problem of the same general type — with a few more variables.
     The ground dovar stations at Congreve Field, Ryhnin Spaceport, White Sands Spaceport, and Santa Barbara Spaceport in Brazil were tracking her. Their electronic eyes watched her as she went around and around the globe. The Asgard space station was also following the Fafnir’s beacon. All the information was being collected at White Sands and fed into the computers there. In the ship, Astrabadi was making pin-point fixes by bouncing dovar off Asgard’s beacon as well as the various spaceport beacons. It was a double-check system working from both ends.
     Hitting a thousand square-feet of concrete gently and precisely from several hundred miles in outer space is no mean trick. Human reactions are too slow and too inaccurate. The great-great-grandson of the GCA aircraft landing system was getting set to take over the final phase. As the Fafnir came in on her approach, five stations around White Sands picked her up on their long-range screens and began bouncing their microwaves off her hull. Their individual azimuth, elevation, range, and doppler beat data were going into the master computer and landing control system at White Sands.
     In case of failure of the ship’s automatic equipment, White Sands was relaying the information from the computer up to the ship by telemetering. Vanderhoff had presentations on his control panel showing the ship’s altitude, approach speed, and drift.
     “Winch! Let’s go!” Vanderhoff yelled up the hatch. As Winch sailed through it, the skipper stretched out on his cot and strapped in. He swung the switch panel over him and depressed the intercom button. “Power room! Stand by to bring her down! ”
     “Roger,” Garver’s voice came back. “Firebox hot! Standing by to start pumps on command!”
     Winch finished strapping down, put on his earphones, and threw a switch. “White Sands Control, White Sands Control, this is Spaceship Fafnir on landing approach. By for you. Over.” The loud-speaker in the bulkhead rasped, “Fafnir, this is White Sands Control. Two-degrees drift north of the groove. Your beacon is S-9 and your path is cleared. White Sands by.”
     Vanderhoff lay back and watched the scopes and meters in the panel above his head. There was nothing he could do about the drift until he fired. The Fafnir was now about fifty-five miles up, ripping horizontally through the upper atmosphere and losing altitude. It was Vanderhoff’s job to judge all factors correctly, navigate by White Sands’ instructions, pull the nose up, and stall out over White Sands, killing the ship’s kinetic energy.
     He gave the crew the red light. “Fafnir, this is White Sands Control. Give us a count down so we can check our switching circuits. Over.”
     “ Roger,” Winch replied and turned his head so he could see the chronometer. “Five ... four ... three ... two ... one ... woof! Over.”
     “Thank you, Fafnir. Stand by to synch dovar.”
     Winch closed his dovar gating circuits and waited for the pulse from the ground to put his system in synchronization. The little pip finally danced momentarily on the face of a scope. “White Sands, Fafnir’s dovar system in synch. By for you.”
     It was all a matter of waiting now. The red second hand crept around the clock dial as Vanderhoff watched. He was flying the ship by the seat of his pants. He began to sweat, although the control room was cool.
     He watched the pip of light which marked the White Sands’ beacon creep across the face of his scope. As it moved closer to the cross hairs, he thumbed a small wheel slightly and felt the nose come up a little as the hydraulic system worked the flaps in the tail assembly. Their velocity was down to about a mile per second now, but he had to kill it all without entering a high-speed stall.
     “Power room, stand by to fire!”
     “Ready here!” Garver came back. “Starting pumps!”
     He brought the nose up a little bit more. The air at thirty miles provided plenty of lift at the Fafnir’s speed, and she began to flatten out and climb.
     “Pumps to speed!” Garver reported. “Ready to fire!”
     The power room light winked green on the skipper’s panel.
     Sweat stood out in beads on Vanderhoff’s forehead as he brought the nose up a bit at a time. The beacon pip crept closer to the cross hairs on the screen.
     The spot touched the lateral cross hair — then matched them both. Vanderhoff swung the nose all the way up, strained as his straps cut into him, and waited for the ship to “pay-off.”
     The gyros cut in automatically as the velocity dropped. The Fafnir climbed on momentum, stalled, then hung there balanced by her gyros, her kinetic energy zero.
     But her potential energy was still enormous; she was seventy-four miles up.
     She dropped, tail first, sixteen feet the first second, forty-eight feet the next second, eighty feet the third. He didn’t dare let her fall too far; the fins would try to flip her over if they managed to take hold in the atmosphere.
     On the dovar screen, he watched the velocity of her fall mount. Checking the drift and setting in the proper corrections, he got ready to fire.
     Garner, he thought, I wish you’d told me about those pumps instead of letting me find out for myself. He’d inspected the power room a few days ago while Garver was forward and asleep. By removing an inspection plate, he’d seen that the pump bearings were badly scored.
     Then, the time came. The Fafnir’s nose began to wobble slightly as the air pressure against her fins fought the gyros.
     “Winch, notify.”
     “White Sands Control, Fafnir ready to fire. Over.”
     “Roger, Fafnir. You are clear and in the groove. Fire at will. Over and by.”
     Vanderhoff poised his hand over the red button and kicked on the auto pilot.
     “Four ... three ... two ... one ... FIRE!"
     He couldn’t hear the thunder of the jets, but he felt the push. Those pumps had to hold for another minute at least. He might get the ship into a glide if the jets did fail, but it was tricky and very risky.
     The auto pilot took its data direct from the dovar and telemetered computer data, figured how long it would have to blast at how many g’s to bring the ship down gently, and started correcting so the Fafnir would land gently and precisely where she should; in the middle of the concrete pad miles below.
     Vanderhoff watched the horizon through the control bubble, fighting the acceleration which changed slightly as the auto pilot recomputed its data. He saw the horizon lose its curve. It did so with alarming speed. What he could see of the surface changed from convex to planar, then became a bowl. The Organ Mountains and Las Cruces came into view. He felt and saw the gentle oscillations of the ship as the auto pilot went on making successive corrections of drift.
     The Organs reared up against the sky, then were obscured in a cloud of dust.
     The Fafnir settled slowly, her white jet splash spraying over the concrete and down into the splash pit. There was a slight jar as her jack-legs touched and compressed under her weight.
     The jets gave a mighty belch, then died.
     The control room settled down with a chattering of relays. Lights winked. Micro-switches clicked. The auto pilot flashed a green light, then turned itself off. There was a whine as the gyros shut off.
     “White Sands control, this is Fafnir” Winch addressed the mike. “On the ground and clear. Thank you. Out.”
     “Roger, Fafnir. White Sands control off and clear ! ”
     Vanderhoff was snapping switches. He was wringing wet with sweat. “All hands report and secure!”
     Winch sighed. “Electronics secured.” He flipped a few switches and lifted Cosmo from his lap; the cat had ridden out the landing with the electronics man as an added cushion. “ How does it feel, chum, to have a floor under you again? Don’t like it, huh? ”
     “Power room! Report!” Vanderhoff snapped into the intercom.
     There was silence.
     “Garv! Report! Are you all right?” the skipper snapped again.
     Winch unstrapped quickly and sat up, silently watching the skipper.
     Vanderhoff strode across the compartment and threw the lower hatch open. “ Grab the First Aid kit and let’s get down there! I thought there was something funny about that landing!” Piling out of his bunk, Winch groaned as he struck the deck, his leg muscles not used to it. Vanderhoff dropped through the hatch. Grabbing the medical kit from its wall brackets. Winch hit the ladder right behind the skipper, leaving Cosmo sitting baffled on the cot.
     Vanderhoff saw oil all over the floor of the power room as he swung the hatch open. Garver was lying on his cot, his eyes closed, breathing heavily. The skipper went quickly to him. “Garv! Are you all right?”
     Sighing deeply, the jetman opened his eyes. Vanderhoff noticed he was shaking. Garver shut his eyes again, saying, “Yeah.”
     “Starfire! What happened?
     “Give me a cigarette,” Garver said. Lighting up, he went on, “The impeller blades on Number Four pump came loose just after you fired the jets, I had to shut it off to keep it from shaking loose from the deck. The auto pilot couldn’t handle the loss of the jet, so I took over manually to keep the unbalanced thrust from flipping the ship.”
     “You brought this ship down manually? ” Winch asked incredulously.
     “Why didn’t you call me?” Vanderhbff asked. “I could have done the job with the dovar data to help me.”
     “I didn’t bring it down manually,” Garver explained. “I just overrode the auto pilot. We were on auto all the time, all right. I was just putting in corrections to make up for the loss of thrust and the resulting cockeyed thrust vectors. You couldn’t have done that in control.” He put his hand over his eyes and shook his head. The skipper could see he was exhausted from his effort. “Let’s get out of this coffin! I’m worn out.”

     Vanderhoff paused and looked up at the fading stars. Jupiter was riding high at the zenith, bright and steady. Venus was the morning star at the time and hung a few degrees over the eastern horizon. Mars, their starting point, was far below the craggy spires of the Organ Mountains. The skipper yawned. “Well, we might as well go in and get a cup of coffee. No use trying to take care of business until this part of the planet wakes up.”
     On the way down the gantry lift, Garver noted the oil streaking the sides of the Fafnir, marring the white paint. He’d opened the hatch to drain the pump lubricant off the power room floor. Reaching the ground. Vanderhoff and Winch waited while he checked the ground tackle connec- tions supplying power to the berthed ship. He rejoined them as they walked across the pitted apron past the splash pit with its pools of grimy, rust-covered water.
     “How does it feel to be back?” the skipper asked.
     “Cosmo don’t like it,” Winch remarked. “Too much g-field.” He fondled the cat in his arms.


     “Sell the load O.K.?”
     “Yes,” Vanderhoff sighed as he dialed his order into the autowaiter, “but not for what it was worth. These gonophs here are worse than the ore traders in the asteroids!”
     Garver snubbed his cigarette out and asked, “How much did we clear?”
     “I can meet the immediate payments on the ship. You’ve got about nine thousand solars coming as soon as I get paid for the load. They’re coming to pick it up tomorrow.”
     “ Want me to be on hand? ”
     “Yes. Sort of supervise. After that, notify the government boys to come over and take their ‘bricks’ out of the pile. I want to get my heart back out of their vault.”
     The decommissioning of a spaceship really takes place when the technicians of the Bureau of Space Commerce come aboard her and remove the “bricks” of fissionable material from her atomic pile. The bricks are the only part of a spaceship not possessed by the owner. There is no ceremony of decommissioning; with her pile “cold,” a spaceship is on the ground to stay.
     Mixed emotions played through Garver’s mind as he watched the BSC boys go through their ritual with the Geigers and gingerly remove the shiny bricks to heavy lead boxes. Those small units were the prime source of the motive power which had enabled this hulk of fabricated steel and titanium to venture out to other worlds.
     He was a little sad and sorry for the Fafnir, In spite of all the grief he’d had with her in the last ten months, he knew she was basically a good ship. With minor changes, she could fly the spaceways for scores of years yet.
     But those minor changes would cost money. One hundred thousand solars would put her in top shape, would give her the new pre-heating pressure-differential fuel pumps with their lack of moving parts, a factor which made present-day rockets the most efficient of all machines, pumps which would increase her exhaust velocity and enable her to carry more; would give her new brains and nerves of wiring and calculating machinery which reduced human error to an absolute minimum; would give her the new, lighter, molar-transfer air system; would give her, in toto, a fresh start.
     That was her next skipper’s worry. Garver was happy. She’d served him well; she’d gotten him home.
     The only thing that really fretted him was the fact that this trip was probably the Fafnir’s last also. Nobody wants to put one hundred thousand solars into a newly-purchased ship before he can get it to lift. Vanderhoff’s only customer would probably be the junk dealer.
     He hated to see any ship scrapped, even one which had nearly killed him. Spaceships were individuals to him; no one likes to see an old friend destroyed because he is no longer of any use. He was attached to the Fafnir, and he hated to see her go.

     Garver sat and took it all in. Somehow, he was a little sorry he’d left, but he was settled now. He wouldn’t have to worry about cash the way business was growing. But he grew nostalgic. His mind’s eye saw New Dallas (on Ganymede) again with its wide open bars and wild frontier life. He remembered the sparkling of the dovar screens as the ship rode with the drift through the asteroids. He could almost see the cold, dark sky of Luna and feel the powerful, bone-crushing, body-flattening push of high-g.
     He wouldn’t admit to himself that he missed it ail.
     It got too much for him, though. He couldn’t sit around and attend to the routine of running the restaurant any longer. On the pretense of dropping up to see Vanderhoff in Las Cruces, he stopped by White Sands.
     The desert was flat and the sun was hot. Traffic on the roads was heavy with the bustling activity of the big port. Hundreds upon hundreds of tall ships and orange gantrys reared up out of the flatness of the Basin. In the main port building, he noted by the board that the Scopas was lifting shortly. He went out to watch her.
     She was a big ship, four hundred feet of beautiful, sleek metal symmetry. Too high for a gantry, she was serviced by four tall towers with large cable cars running like bosun’s chairs to her locks and hatches. Her crew had already cast all but one of these loose by the time he got there. Taking up a position on the ramp of the control building a mile away, he watched her get ready to go.
     There was power in every inch of her lines, from the pointed nose down along her slim sides to the gaping orifices of her jets. She was one of the most efficient machines ever devised by man, a machine which allowed him to defy the gravity holding him to his world and allowed him to exercise dominion over the tiny dust-motes in space around a small star. To mankind, it was a tremendous achievement.
     Garver had once been part of that.
     The bull horn on the tower boomed, “Minus-15 minutes! All hands clear the areal” The siren began to howl. Men and machines scurried away from the ship, looking like insects in comparison with her huge bulk. Red-green lights winked on around the area.
     The minutes dragged by. Garver felt the old excitement welling within him. Then, the green lights winked out, leaving only a circle of red ones about the ship and on the tower.
     The Scopas suddenly came alive. Fire burst from her stern, lifting the desert sands in swirling eddies. It took her a moment to move. Then she balanced on a solid pillar of fire so white it hurt his eyes. She was as high as her own length.
     He cupped his hands over his eyes to see her better in the bright sun. The noise struck him. It was a solid wall of sound. He doubled over instinctively, as though he’d been punched hard in the stomach by a monster fist. As he watched, that tremendous thing as high as a forty-story building climbed up into the blue with gaming speed, leaving a hundred-foot trail of flame behind it.
     He had spent years in space. He’d watched hundreds of them go up. But he never got over the awesome feeling of the horrible power of those ships. No one ever does. It is an emotional experience that cannot be equalled by anything else.
     She was gone. The rippling thunder of her departure finally died, leaving nothing but the vapor trail to show where she had been.

     On the way back in, the road led him by the original blockhouse and launching area of White Sands. It stood now as a monument and museum of those days when men longed for the planets and sought them with the pitifully small chemical-fuelled rockets. He stopped for a look. He hadn’t seen the place for years. The old blockhouse was just the way it had been the day the first rocket had left from Luna, leaving her boosters and steps in the desert and the Gulf of Mexico. The racks of electronic gear in the firing room were ancient, bulky, and long outmoded. Through the small slit windows with their ten-inches of glass he could see only a portion of the launching area, although the periscopes offered a somewhat better view. He wondered what the men had been like who’d sat in here and fired those old blowtorches. He wondered what they’d thought as they fired that first one at Luna with a barely adequate load of fuel. Had any of them known what they were ushering in and what a tremendous boon to mankind the frontier in the sky would be? In the communications room he looked at the plotting board where they had watched the boosters and steps fall Earthward in streaks of red grease pencil.
     Outside, the little gantry still stood over the firing pit. Sitting on the firing table beneath it was Betsy, the old V-2 war rocket which had never gone up. They painted her each year now to keep her from rusting.
     On her south fin was a small brass plate:

GERMAN V-2 ROCKET
as fired at White Sands Proving Ground
1946-1951 A. D.
The first rocket with pumps and
the ancestor of the spaceship.
Ad Astra per Aspera.

     He turned and walked away. A mile ahead of him was an orange gantry crane and the Fafnir. Her sides were streaking with rust now, but she stood tall and straight and proud, rearing high over the desert boondocks.
     Then he knew he belonged here. This was his life and always would be. Somehow, some way, he must live it. He had to go back into space — had to. He couldn’t live his life cooped up on this tiny planet, eternally chained to her by her gravity. He’d been kidding himself all along. He’d thought he could change. He couldn’t. He knew he never would. This is what he’d always wanted to do.
     Thousands of men had lived for the very thing he’d done, had given their lives to put a rocket on the Moon, had sweated on the hot, dry desert of New Mexico to throw a V-2 a hundred miles into the sky, had been laughed at as fanatics, had lived and breathed and talked and dreamed rockets all their lives. Men like Oberth, Ley, Winkler, Goddard, and those who had followed in their footsteps, sharing the dream, believing — knowing it could be done aud would be done.
     He didn’t bother to wipe the tears from his eyes. He had to go back.

     “I’ll make you a deal,” Garver put in quickly. “You were complaining that you were going stir-crazy for lack of something to do, right?” “Right.”
     “I have an answer. You’ve got the Fafnir, and I've got the Traveler’s Tavern. Want to swap?”

     “All right, Garv, you want to go back.” The old free trader pointed his cigar at him. “But tell me this: how are you going to make it pay? That was the main reason I had to leave. I’d have kept going otherwise until I dropped dead on the deck. My family have been traders and merchants and merchantmen skippers ever since the Fifteenth Century. I grew up with the ledgers and warehouses and exchanges all around me — and I couldn’t make it pay! How do you propose to do it as a free trader? ”
     “You made a mistake,” Garver pointed out bluntly. “You grew up with the businessmen who had been chained to Terra for centuries. They had no more conception of interplanetary trade than the average man on the street does today. I grew up with the ships that ply the routes between the planets. I know interplanetary commerce from all its varied angles. Sure, a ferryboat skipper can’t see how transoceanic steamers can make a profit with their tremendous investment, long voyages, and changing markets. With the same token, the terrestrial businessman has trouble visualizing a profit when he can’t ship forty tons by sky freight and get it there in a matter of hours. It’s all a matter of viewpoint. Van, I’ve shipped for years with free traders who could and did make it pay! ”

     The Fafnir was ready to go again. She stood out starkly white in contrast to her gantry. Gone were the streaks of rust; her skin was welded and hammered out and painted. Her insides were clean and re-organized. The jets had been lined with R-26, the new refractory material, and were fed by pre-heating pressure-differential fuel pumps. Winch Astrabadi, whom Garver had hauled off the Asgard shuttle, had put in the new dovar which was hidden in the radomes bulging out from the hull, and had helped Harvey Bemotte rewire the entire ship.

     Thirty-three minutes later, Vanderhoff stood statuelike outside the control tower and watched the Fafnir lift. This time the old Fire-breathing Dragon lifted true, straight, and fast.
     Up and out the Fafnir drove, her steel heart singing with the sounds of well-functioning machinery, carrying Rod Carver out to his destiny. Every man has only one destiny, and he shapes that during his life by the things he likes and the things he does and the places he goes.
     Carver vaguely remembered the words written by another man in another century:
     “... And all I ask is a tall ship, and a star to steer her by ...”
     He had his ship and he had all the stars in the universe shining through that porthole as the Fafnir reached cut-off.


     In every age, in every time, there have been those who are not content to settle down. They miss the kick of the wheel, the wail of the wind in the rigging, the exotic sights and smells of a harbor half across the world, the roar of engines cutting through the slipstream, and the powerful, body-shaking thunder of the jets. It is to these restless men with the wanderlust that the human race owes a priceless debt as the wanderers push the horizons out to the stars—

From ...AND A STAR TO STEER HER BY by Lee Correy aka G. Harry Stine (1953)

Math Is Our Friend

RocketCat sez

Alright you ground-grippers! My name is RocketCat! I'm here to make you into steely-eyed missile people, blasting off and leaving all those trekkies choking on your rocket exhaust.

But we are talkin' Rocket Science here, people! That means ... duntDahDUHHHHH!!! ... Mathematics! If this frightens you, well, go have a seat over there by the trekkies. I'm not talking calculus, I mean math you can do on a dollar store pocket calculator. You can handle that, can't you? Learn where the multiply, divide, square, square-root, natural logarithm (ln), and trig keys are; and you'll be fine.

If ya can't be bothered to do the math, then you can always just look at the pretty pictures. And there are one or two pages here that have hardly any equations at all.

Real rocket scientist know what metric units to use in rocket equations (metre—kilogram—second, centimetre—gram—second, SI). I know that none of them are reading this. So, for the benefit of all you ground-grippers, I'm going to explicitly specify what metric units to use in each equation. Because I know if I don't, it will be just too blasted easy for you to make a mistake in units and get an answer that is a thousand times too big or small.

Or if you prefer, it is because I'm trying to make the equations easier for a non-rocket-scientist to use. You decide.

It is all in the Metric System as well. Because the entire non-USA world in general, and the realm of science in particular uses metric. Get over it.

I'll try to explain things simple, so non-science types can still understand. But there are limits. I assume you at least know what the difference is between a planet and a galaxy. You will have a big head-start if you've had a course in high-school physics (and didn't flunk).

If you can master this website, you will be a steely-eye missile person; and any science fiction you create will have better scientific accuracy than 99% of the crap that is out there now. Plus along the way I'll leave you a few quotes from novels and observations that could spark some fruitful ideas to develop for your work.

Don't panic. All the equations in the following are about high school algebra level. They are all easy enough to manage on an average scientific calculator, a computer spread sheet, or a slide rule for that matter. If needed, the reader should review the rules on Significant Figures.

Having said that, you will find the following pages much easier to understand if you have taken an introductory course in Physics in high school or whatever.

If you are using a pocket calculator, try to find the scientific kind. You will need one that handles natural logarithms (the ln key) and square roots (the key). To do square roots using the calculator program that comes with Microsoft Windows, use the "View" menu to set the view type to "Scientific", click the "Inv" checkbox, then use the "x^2" key. Be sure to un-check the "Inv" checkbox when you are done.

If the equation uses tan(), sin(), or other trigonometric functions, pay attention to what input unit the function wants. If you are using a pocket calculator or the Windows calculator program it defaults to wanting the input to be in decimal degrees. If you are using a spreadsheet or writing your own home brew computer program, the TAN() and SIN() functions want the input to be in radians.

If you are going to do the equations in the Relativity section, you will need a calculator that can handle the hyperbolic functions sinh, cosh, and tanh. On the Windows calculator, click the "Hyp" checkbox, then use the sin, cos, and tan keys. Again, remember to un-check the "Hyp" box when you are done.

Acceleration
gm/s2
19.81
⅟100.981
⅟1000.0981

When I was a boy, you had to do logarithms by looking them up in a book of tables, or with a slide rule. Now you young whipper-snappers can get a calculator at the drug store for $9.95 that will do it with the press of a key.

As per usage in computer programming languages, the symbol "*" means "multiplication". In the following equations, be sure that you use the same units throughout, to minimize that type of error. I generally use meters - kilograms - seconds. Obviously meters * 1000 = kilometers.

Beware that items like a rocket's exhaust velocity are often given in kilometers per second, instead of meters per second. It doesn't matter which you use, but be sure to use the same units everywhere. (For those readers who actually have some knowledge of rocketry: Yes, I know it is inconvenient to use meters per second with all those annoying ciphers. But I still used them throughout this site so as to give one less source of error for those readers who are new to all this.)

Also useful is AU * 1.49e11 = meters. AU's are "astronomical units", the distance between the Earth and Sol. Planetary distances are generally given in AUs, so you have to know how to convert them into the more useful "meters".

1.49e11 is "scientific notation", a fancy way of writing 149,000,000,000 without all those messy zeros. For those who are familiar with scientific notation but not with computer scientific notation, 1.49e11 = 1.49×1011, the "e" stands for "exponent".

"Kilo" means "thousand", e.g., one kilowatt = 1,000 watts = 1e3 watts. "Mega" means "million. Giga" means "billion". There is a handy table of these prefixes here.

Be told that this website uses the mathematical notations in common use in the United States. A comma is used between each group of three numbers and a period is used as a decimal point, e.g., 23,000.17 = twenty three thousand and seventeen-hundredths. 109 is "one billion" with the prefix "giga-", unlike UK nommenclature where 1012 is "one billion" with the prefix "tera-".

Information about the mass and radius of various planets can be found here: http://nssdc.gsfc.nasa.gov/planetary/planetfact.html

In the sections on power sources and the section on spacecraft weapons many of the items have outputs measured in watts. This website has a nice table of various watt levels and comparison items so as to get a feel for things.

Visualization of the Cosmic All

In E. E. "Doc" Smith's immortal Lensman series, the race of Arisians look like titanic brains walking on tentacles. They are beyond hyper-intelligent. Indeed, they are so beyond hyper-intelligent that given an object or situation, they can calculate and deduce its entire future history for eons to come. They call this their "Visualization of the Cosmic All."

VISUALIZATION OF THE COSMIC ALL

(ed note: Mentor of Arisia is intructing Virgil Samms, who will become the First Lensman)

“And third, you yourself spend highly valuable time and much effort in playing chess. Why do you do it? What do you get out of it?”

“Why, I … uh … mental exercise, I suppose …I like it!”

“Just so. And I am sure that one of your very early philosophers came to the conclusion that a fully competent mind, from a study of one fact or artifact belonging to any given universe, could construct or visualize that universe, from the instant of its creation to its ultimate end?

“Yes. At least, I have heard the proposition stated, but I have never believed it possible.”

“It is not possible simply because no fully competent mind ever has existed or ever will exist. A mind can become fully competent only by the acquisition of infinite knowledge, which would require infinite time as well as infinite capacity. Our equivalent of your chess, however, is what we call the ‘Visualization of the Cosmic All’. In my visualization a descendant of yours named Clarrissa MacDougall will, in a store called Brenleer’s upon the planet … but no, let us consider a thing nearer at hand and concerning you personally, so that its accuracy will be subject to check. Where you will be and exactly what you will be doing, at some definite time in the future. Five years, let us say?”

“Go ahead. If you can do that you’re good.”

“Five Tellurian calendar years then, from the instant of your passing through the screen of ‘The Hill’ on this present journey, you will be … allow me, please, a moment of thought … you will be in a barber shop not yet built; the address of which is to be fifteen hundred fifteen Twelfth Avenue, Spokane, Washington, North America, Tellus. The barber’s name will be Antonio Carbonero and he will be left-handed. He will be engaged in cutting your hair. Or rather, the actual cutting will have been done and he will be shaving, with a razor trade-marked ‘Jensen-King-Byrd’, the short hairs in front of your left ear. A comparatively small, quadrupedal, grayish-striped entity, of the race called ‘cat’—a young cat, this one will be, and called Thomas, although actually of the female sex—will jump into your lap, addressing you pleasantly in a language with which you yourself are only partially familiar. You call it mewing and purring, I believe?”

“Yes,” the flabbergasted Samms managed to say. “Cats do purr—especially kittens.”

“Ah—very good. Never having met a cat personally, I am gratified at your corroboration of my visualization. This female youth erroneously called Thomas, somewhat careless in computing the elements of her trajectory, will jostle slightly the barber’s elbow with her tail; thus causing him to make a slight incision, approximately three millimeters long, parallel to and just above your left cheekbone. At the precise moment in question, the barber will be applying a styptic pencil to this insignificant wound. This forecast is, I trust, sufficiently detailed so that you will have no difficulty in checking its accuracy or its lack thereof?”

“Detailed! Accuracy!” Samms could scarcely think. “But listen—not that I want to cross you up deliberately, but I’ll tell you now that a man doesn’t like to get sliced by a barber, even such a little nick as that. I’ll remember that address—and the cat—and I’ll never go into the place!”

“Every event does affect the succession of events,” Mentor acknowledged, equably enough. “Except for this interview, you would have been in New Orleans at that time, instead of in Spokane. I have considered every pertinent factor. You will be a busy man. Hence, while you will think of this matter frequently and seriously during the near future, you will have forgotten it in less than five years. You will remember it only at the touch of the astringent, whereupon you will give voice to certain self-derogatory and profane remarks.”

“I ought to,” Samms grinned; a not-too-pleasant grin. He had been appalled by the quality of mind able to do what Mentor had just done; he was now more than appalled by the Arisian’s calm certainty that what he had foretold in such detail would in every detail come to pass. “If, after all this Spokane—let a tiger-striped kitten jump into my lap—let a left-handed Tony Carbonero nick me—uh-uh, Mentor, UH-UH! It I do, I’ll deserve to be called everything I can think of!”

“These that I have mentioned, the gross occurrences, are problems only for inexperienced thinkers.” Mentor paid no attention to Samms’ determination never to enter that shop. “The real difficulties lie in the fine detail, such as the length, mass, and exact place and position of landing, upon apron or floor, of each of your hairs as it is severed. Many factors are involved. Other clients passing by—opening and shutting doors—air currents—sunshine—wind—pressure, temperature, humidity. The exact fashion in which the barber will flick his shears, which in turn depends upon many other factors—what he will have been doing previously, what he will have eaten and drunk, whether or not his home life will have been happy … you little realize, youth, what a priceless opportunity this will be for me to check the accuracy of my visualization. I shall spend many periods upon the problem. I cannot attain perfect accuracy, of course. Ninety nine point nine nines percent, let us say … or perhaps ten nines … is all that I can reasonably expect …”

From FIRST LENSMAN by E. E. "Doc" Smith (1950)

About this time RocketCat is pointedly checking his wrist-chronometer and you are wondering what this has to do with Atomic Rockets.

Well, knowledge of science in general and rocketeering in specific allows you, the reader, to do a "Visualization of the Cosmic All" while reading a science fiction novel. But only if the author plays by the rules. What rules? The ones set forth in this website, of course.

I first noticed this in the novels of Larry Niven. I'm not saying that all the science in his novels was utterly scientifically perfect. There are a few things that are not quite correct, but that isn't the point.

The point is that effort was made to use accurate science, and to think through the consequences. Both expected and unexpected consequences. A reader can do a Visualization of the Cosmic All with a Larry Niven novel, in exactly the same way that the reader of a mystery novel can take the presented clues and deduce the answer to the mystery.

Try to use accurate science wherever possible. But when you cannot (say, if you want a faster-than-light starship) the least you can do is strive for internal self-consistency. This means you set the ground rules for your FTL starships (or whatever) and stick to the rules.

So while somebody is reading your novel, X will happen in the plot. The reader will think "wait a minute, that implies Y is going to happen in a minute." If you have properly constructed a Visualization of the Cosmic All type novel, Y will indeed happen shortly. The reader will have a smug sense of self-satisfaction about how clever they are. And will probably purchase more of your novels. They will probably also urge their friends to read your novels as well. After all this gives them an opportunity to show off in front of their friends, especially if they are not quite as skilled in deduction.


In real science, part of its power is that it is self-correcting. This applies in science fiction as well.

For example, one of Larry Niven's most famous novels was Ringworld, featuring an eponymous megastructure. This caught the imagination of science fictions fans in general and the students of MIT in specific. The students actually did the math for a Ringworld structure. To Niven's chagrin, the students discovered that the Ringworld was unstable. If it was perturbed, it would gradually drift off-center until it collided with the center sun.

But science is self-correcting, and good hard science fiction should be. Larry Niven took the MIT analysis as if it was a peer-review of a scientific paper. Meaning he crafted a solution to the problem and used it as the basis for Ringworld Engineers, the block-busting Hugo-and-Nebual award nominated sequel.

If Niven had sourly stonewalled the MIT critics, he would have been stuck with one Ringworld novel under a shadow. By embracing the scientific method, Niven wound up with two famous novels, with the idea for the second given to him for free.

Niven also sometimes used the murder-mystery technique, often without specifying that there is a mystery in the first place. The reader kicks themself for not noticing how the clues go together. An example can be found in Chapter 13 of Ringworld, the bit about the Starseed Lures.


To my disappointment, science fiction with the Visualization of the Cosmic All is quite rare. Off the top of my head I have only found it in the novels of Larry Niven, the Galactic Marines series of William H. Keith Jr., A Sword Into Darkness by Thomas Mays, Further: Beyond the Threshold by Chris Roberson, Babylon 5, The Expanse, and a couple of other novels that have escaped my memory.

One of my motivations behind writing this website was to assist in the creation of more Visualization of the Cosmic All science fiction. Because currently such novels are conspicuous by their absence.

AWESOMENESS BY ANALYSIS
"But whether or not [the snipers are] using cheat sheets, a shot is not just pulling the trigger — it's factoring in an astronomical number of variables and arriving at a mathematically sound solution, and then using that math to explode somebody else's head."
Cracked, "5 Weapon Myths You Probably Believe (Thanks to Movies)"

Some people learn by flipping pages. Some people must gain knowledge through pain. Some people study by television. And then there are those who just have to observe...

Most skills take a certain measure of practice to master...unless you are Good with Numbers. Those lucky few can substitute careful examination in place of careful practice, with the same results: success.

Need to make a million-to-one shot to stop the Doomsday Device from exploding the world, but have never even fired a gun? Just run off some mental calculations about your gun's firing speed, friction, gravity, and the slightly-off-kilter scope (how exactly the analyzer knows all those variables is handwaved), and it's a done deal. Need to defeat a jujitsu master? Logically anticipate where his next strike will come from and remain one step ahead. Mental capacity is limitless when the plot is at stake!

If he has time to explain himself, it always sounds something like "If My Calculations Are Correct". Explaining it gives it a chance to fail. Relatedly, two awesomeness analysts don't really need to explain anything to each other, they can do it by Talking Through Technique.

The most common cause of Badass Bookworm, and often results from The Professor having a doctorate in general knowledge rather than any one field. The Clock King can do this thanks to precise attention to detail and patterns. Characters who get to skip the analysis altogether due to some form of copycat power are Power Copying. Exactly What I Aimed At usually comes from this trope. They are most likely screwed if the opponent knows Confusion Fu. The Profiler does this with people. An author may use Super-Detailed Fight Narration to demonstrate that a character possesses this ability.

(ed note: see TV Trope page for list of examples)

Interesting Holes

When Dimitri Mendeleev invented the periodic table of the elements, there were interesting holes in it. Mendeleev made the bold statement that these holes represented elements that had not been discovered yet, and predicted their approximate properties by analogy with the surrounding elements. He was vindicated when a couple new elements were discovered, and they matched the predictions.

Basically Mendeleev had managed to turn the elements into a chemical crossword-puzzle. Which means you can solve for an unknown horizontal word by using known vertical words that pass through it.

Mendeleev had predicted an atomic mass of 68 and a density of 6.0 for "eka-aluminium" in 1871. Paul Emile Lecoq de Boisbaudran discovered it in 1875 (naming it gallium). It had an atomic mass of 69.72 and a density of 5.904. This was astonishingly close. As a matter of fact, de Boisbaudran intially got the properties wrong. He compounded his error by angrily calling Mendeleev a crack-pot trying to steal his place in the history books. Mendeleev calmly told de Boisbaudran that his figures for the properties were mistaken. And soon de Boisbaudran had to publish an embarrassing retraction about gallium's weight and density. Historian Eric Scerri said "The scientific world was astounded to note that Mendeleev, the theorist, had seen the properties of a new element more clearly than the chemist who had discovered it." After that the scientific community adopted Medeleev's periodic table with open arms.

And whether he was trying to or not, Mendeleev did indeed steal de Boisbaudran's place in the history books. At least most elementary science students have heard about Mendeleev's periodic table, but none of them could tell you about the intrepid de Boisbaudran: groundbreaker of gallium.


But how do interesting holes help you?

The idea is if you do not have a a framework, you have no clue how much is left to be discovered. The framework gives you a map of your ignorance.

This powerful tool can be applied to your science fiction. If you can construct a framework for some feature of your universe, you can notice concepts that you might have failed to address. Not that you as an author gives a rat's heinie if your framework has holes. But these holes can be valuable sources of plot ideas and innovative concepts to dazzle your readers. Ideas that are a logical consequence of your science fiction universe, and thus will have a plausibility which will impress the heck out of your audience.

Hey, it beats dealing with writer's block; staring at the keyboard until drops of blood appear on your forehead.

As an example, I tried to make a periodic table of space warships in an effort to find interesting holes. Examining the type of ship that would fill the hole will have you think either: [a] "What a worthless class of ship." or [b] "Wait a minute! That sort of ship could be useful." And some of the worthless holes might spark an idea later, say a specialized ship for a specialized mission, like the Brittania from Doc Smith's GALACTIC PATROL.

The hole I noticed was in warships that were optimized to be mostly defense (armor and point defense). If the remainder was propulsion (but no weapons) the ship was an unarmed armored transport. If the remainder was weapons (but no propulsion) the ship was an orbital fortress. The hole came when you had a defense-heavy ship with both weapons and propulsion. What the heck were they?

A defense heavy ship with propulsion, but also a few weapons? After prolonged cogitation I decided it is some kind of military logistics ship, or a transport designed to operate independently of an armed escort. A defense heavy ship with weapons, and a bit of propulsion? CDR Beausabre suddenly realized it is something like H. Beam Piper's Space Viking ships: something that can survive a barrage, hold a perimeter, and escape while carrying all the loot loaded by the space viking raiders.

The "space viking" solution to the hole was only after a bit of thought. But the framework was the tip-off that there was a hole in the first place.


Other examples of interesting holes

Parametric Linguistics

I have not personally read Parametric Linguistics by Louis Heller and James Macris, but I've been told they did something simiar to the Periodic Table. They took the variouis word sounds of all the languages of the world and arranged them in a graph. They grouped the sounds by various parameters (i.e., labial, apical, or dorsal articulation; voicing or its lack; aspiration or its lack; concomitant labialization or its lack).

And when they did, there was an interesting hole. They had discovered a word sound which no language on Terra actually used.


Titius–Bode law

The (now discredited) Titius–Bode law predicts the spacing of planetary orbits in the solar system (but fails with Neptune's orbit). The law was proposed in the late 1700s.

When the orbits were calculated, there was an interesting hole between the orbits of Mars and Jupiter. Bode pushed for a search to find the missing planet in the interesting hole, and in 1800 the asteroid Ceres was discovered. This was the first discovered asteroid of the belt located between Mars and Jupiter. Slightly before the discovery of Ceres another astronomer discovered the planet Uranus, which occupies the first empty orbital slot beyond the then furthest known planet (Saturn).

But then the new planet Neptune did not fit the Titius–Bode law at all, which consigned the law to the dust bin of history. Science fiction authors of the 1950s were not so quick to abandon the law. They took it as proof [a] the asteroid belt was the remains of an exploded planet which formerly occupied Titus–Bode's fifth slot, and [b] Neptune used to be perfectly located in Titus–Bode's ninth slot, until something catastrophic happened.


Memristor

In electrical circuits everything is defined by the state variables: current i; voltage v, charge q; and magnetic flux Φ.

If you make an electrical circuit periodic table, you will have something like the illustrations above.

  • The relationship between voltage and current is controlled by Electrical Resistance, the component called the Resisitor.
  • The relationship between voltage and charge is controlled by Capacitance, the component called the Capacitor.
  • The relationship between current and magnetic flux is controlled by Inductance, the component called the Inductor.
  • The relationship between charge and magnetic flux is controlled by Memristance, the component called, er, ah, hmmmm, there isn't any! Tallyho! The game is afoot. We've discovered another interesting hole!

Researcher Leon Ong Chua (蔡少棠) noticed the hole and wrote a paper about it in 1971. The missing component was named a Memristor. The component would act most strangely. It was like a resistor, but the current amount of resistance it had depended upon the history of size and direction of electrical current that has passed through. It has a "memory" of the current which determined the "resistance". Memristor.

Dr. Chua said "My situation was similar to that of the Russian chemist Dmitri Mendeleev who invented the periodic table in 1869. Mendeleev postulated that there were elements missing from the table, and now all those elements have been found."

So far nobody has managed to make a memristor. In 2008 a team of HP scientists under Stanley Williams announced they had detected memristor-like behavior in bi-level titanium dioxide thin-film. But there is a lot of controversy about this finding.

Space Navy Develpment System

(ed note: master spacecraft designer Ray McVay comments on the Space Navy Develpment System, which is a structured framework assisting you to design your science fictional space navy without embarrassing holes.)

How can a little chart do so much? I've said it before: Soft Science Fiction tries to make technology fit the imagination, and Hard Science Fiction tries to imagine what fits the technology. This chart provides a great framework of technology, logistics, and practical organization to fit one's imagination into.

Bands of the Fourth Order

"Some time later, when sub-electrons of the first and second levels were identified, the energies given off by their combinations or disruptions were called rays of the third and fourth orders. These rays are most interesting and most useful; in fact, they do all our mechanical work. They as a class are called protelectricity, and bear the same relation to ordinary electricity that electricity does to torque—both are pure energy, and they are interconvertible.

Unlike electricity, however, it may be converted into many different forms by fields of force, in a way comparable to that in which white light is resolved into colors by a prism—or rather, more like the way alternating current is changed to direct current by a motor-generator set, with attendant changes in properties.

There are two complete spectra, of about five hundred and fifteen hundred bands, respectively, each as different from the others as red is different from green. Thus, the power that propels your space-vessel, your attractors, your repellors, your object-compass, your zone of force—all these things are simply a few of the fifteen hundred wave-bands of the fourth order, all of which you doubtless would have worked out for yourselves in time.

Since I know practically nothing of the fifth—the first sub-ethereal level—and since that order is to be your prime interest, I will leave it entirely to Rovol."

(ed note: the point being that Seaton had discovered spaceship power, attractors, repellors, object-compasses, and zones of force by flailing around. He had no idea how many more inventions were yet to be discovered.

But knowing that these were just five bands out of the twenty-hundred bands of the Fourth Order, one is now aware there are exactly 1,995 inventions yet to find.)

From Skylark Three by E. E. "Doc" Smith (1948)
The Dying Earth

In this fashion did Turjan enter his apprenticeship to Pandelume. Day and far into the opalescent Embelyon night he worked under Pandelume's unseen tutelage. He learned the secret of renewed youth, many spells of the ancients, and a strange abstract lore that Pandelume termed "Mathematics."

"Within this instrument," said Pandelume, "resides the Universe. Passive in itself and not of sorcery, it elucidates every problem, each phase of existence, all the secrets of time and space. Your spells and runes are built upon its power and codified according to a great underlying mosaic of magic. The design of this mosaic we cannot surmise; our knowledge is didactic, empirical, arbitrary. Phandaal glimpsed the pattern and so was able to formulate many of the spells which bear his name. I have endeavored through the ages to break the clouded glass, but so far my research has failed. He who discovers the pattern will know all of sorcery and be a man powerful beyond comprehension."

From The Dying Earth by Jack Vance (1950)
Casting Shadows

(ed note: In the Babylon 5 universe, the Technomages use science to create the appearance of magic. Technmages are implanted with alien technology called "The Tech" which they use for their most powerful "spells." Apprentices use a training wheel version of the Tech called a "chrysalis"

Techomages have to create their own customized "spell language" that is used to communicate with The Tech. Some use words as incantations, some use gestures, some use music, one even uses knitting and weaving of cloth

Galen is a novice apprenticed to Elric the Technomage. As part of the graduation ceremony, an apprentice is to demonstrate a new spell of their own devising. Galen is having trouble thinking of something original.)

     He’d studied those great spells extensively. One difficulty every mage faced, though, was translating the work of other mages into his own spell language. Each mage had to discover and develop his own spell language, because a spell that worked for one mage would not work for another. Elric had explained that the tech was so intimately connected with one’s body and mind that conjuring became shaped by the individual. Since each person’s mind worked differently, mages achieved the best results in different ways. An apprentice trained to achieve clarity of thought, and his preferred method of thought formed his spell language. His chrysalis learned to respond to the spell language, and when he received his implants, this knowledge was passed to them through the old implant at the base of his skull.
     Galen’s spell language was that of equations. Elric had been concerned at first as Galen’s language had developed. Most spell languages were more instinctive, less rigid, less rational. But Galen wasn’t a holistic, lateral thinker who jumped from one track to another, drawing instinctive connections. His thoughts plodded straight ahead, each leading logically and inexorably to the next. Elric had expressed fear that Galen’s language would be cumbersome and inflexible. Yet as Elric had worked with Galen on the language and seen how many spells Galen had been able to translate, his reservations had seemed to fade.
     Translation was one of the most difficult tasks facing any mage. It was only after looking at many spells that Galen was able to understand how another mage’s spell language related to his, then translate those conjuries. He had managed to translate most of Wierden’s and Gali-Gali’s spells, as well as many spells of other mages. With different levels of success, he had translated spells to create illusions, to make flying platforms, to conjure defensive shields, to generate fireballs, to send messages to other mages, to control the sensors that would soon be implanted into him, to access and manipulate data internally, to access external databases, and much more.
     He had memorized them all.
     But since each spell language possessed its own inherent strengths and weaknesses, he found it impossible to translate some spells, such as those for healing. Others, such as the spells used to generate defensive shields, he believed he had translated correctly, yet when he cast them, the results he achieved were weak, inferior.
     Galen wondered, and not for the first time, if his spell language hampered his attempt to conjure something original. As his thoughts plodded straight ahead, so did his spells, equation after orderly equation. In his language, it made no sense to simply make up a spell. An equation must be sensible in order to work; all the terms must possess established identities and properties. So how could he discover an equation that somehow reflected him, revealed him? He had been uncomfortable with the idea of revealing himself, but now that hesitance faded to insignificance beside the undeniable necessity: he could not disappoint Elric.
     Galen brought up a different section of text on the screen, his translations of some of the spells of Wierden. They varied in complexity and involved many different terms, some of which were used in multiple spells, others used only once. Again it seemed to him that there could be no truly original spells, only more complicated ones. Frustrated, Galen started to reorder the spells on the screen, from simplest to most complex. As he did, he noticed that some of the spells formed a progression. A spell with two terms conjured a translucent globe. A spell with those same two terms, and one more, conjured a globe with energy inside. A spell with those same three terms, and yet another, conjured a globe with the energy given the form of light. Add another term, and it conjured a globe filled with light and heat. And on it went.
     Several of Gali-Gali’s spells furthered the complexity. If he could work his way to the last spell in the progression, could he think of one that would go beyond it?
     But wasn’t this just what others were doing, building ever more elaborate spells without really creating something new? He didn’t know if the other mages thought of it this way; since they didn’t formulate their spells as equations, their spells didn’t have multiple terms in them. Elric, he knew, simply visualized what he wanted to happen, and if it was within his power, it happened. One simple visualization for any spell.
     Galen’s eyes went back to the top of the list, to the spell containing only two terms. Why was there no spell with only one term? No such spell existed in Wierden’s work, or, as he thought about it, in any of the mages’ conjuries he’d yet translated. Most of them had many, many terms. In fact, he couldn’t even remember another equation with only two.
     Perhaps spells had to have more than one term. But why? He stared at the two terms that began the progression. If there was an initial spell in the series, a spell with only one term, which term was it?
     The first of the two terms was common, used in this progression and elsewhere. Galen had come to think of it as a sort of cleanup term, necessary for everything to balance, but having negligible impact.
     The second term, on the other hand, existed only within the spells of this progression. As far as he knew, at least. That seemed very odd. Surely it could have other uses.
     That second term, then, seemed the defining characteristic of the progression, and the obvious choice for the first equation in it. But what would the term do when used alone?
     Perhaps it would have the same effect as the second equation, conjuring a translucent sphere. If the cleanup term truly was negligible, that’s what would happen. The sphere itself, as he’d discussed it with Elric, was an odd construct, not a force field as it first had seemed. It didn’t really hold things in, or keep things out. It simply demarcated a space within which something would be done.
     If removing the cleanup term did have an effect, what might it be? Perhaps the sphere wouldn’t form at all. Perhaps it would be opaque or have some other property. Or perhaps it would be deformed in some way. In any case, it wouldn’t be very impressive.

     Carvin’s spell language was that of the body; specific, precise movements and their accompanying mental impulses comprised her spells.

(ed note: As part of his apprentice demonstration, Galen tries doing a one-term spell. To everybody's surprise, it starts to make a planet-devouring sphere of force. The one-term spell is far more powerful than any other known spell. Galen's teacher Elric manages to shut down the spell. Later in private they talk.)

     Elric set a mug of water on the table in front of Galen, which at last brought him to life. He looked up at Elric with large, hungry eyes. “What was it?” he asked.
     “I do not know.”
     “It was dangerous.”
     “So it seemed. With a power greater than any I’ve sensed from a conjury.”
     “I didn’t lose control.”
     “That,” Elric said, “is the most troubling aspect of it.” At the beginning of their training, chrysalis-stage apprentices often lost control and generated violent bursts of energy. But that wasn’t what Elric had observed today. Galen’s spell had been focused, controlled. This hadn’t been some outburst of undisciplined violence. It had been a carefully crafted, directed, outpouring of huge power. Elric had barely been able to stop it in time.
     Galen shook his head. “I didn’t know… what it would do.”
     “I realize that. Tell me how you arrived at this spell.”
     Galen brought his screen from his bedroom and led Elric through a progression of equations that he had derived from translating the works of Wierden and Gali-Gali. As Galen spoke, Elric was glad to see him become more animated.
     “I realized there was no first equation in the progression, with only one term. That is what I conjured.”
     Elric sat beside him. “The idea of a first equation in the progression. It makes perfect sense in your spell language. Yet there is no equivalent in mine.” Galen was a genius for coming up with it. Although Elric had helped Galen formulate and develop his spell language, it was vastly different from Elric’s: much more complex, much more regimented. Elric had thought this would limit Galen’s abilities; he had never imagined it would lead to new discoveries.
     “I thought it might be a fluke of my language, that it might do nothing. But it did… do something.”
     A spell like this might explain some of the mysteries in techno-mage history. But the implications disturbed Elric. “It gathered great energy and instability.”
     Galen’s hands tightened around the screen. He was still troubled about what he had done, and how he had come to do it. “The second term must stabilize the first. Perhaps it creates an opposing force of some kind.”
     “The result of the spell could not have been anticipated,” Elric said.
     Galen turned to him, brilliant blue eyes needy, unblinking. “How is it that my spell language led to this?
     “The same way that the study of the atom led to the atomic bomb, or the study of light to the laser. The potential was there. You discovered it.”

(ed note: As it turns out, Galan has discovered one of the five primal root spells encoded into the Tech by the creators of the Tech. The point is that no other technomage in history had discovered these, due to the nature of their spell languages. Galan's spell language had revealed an interesting hole.)

From Casting Shadows by Jeanne Cavelos (2001)

Back to the Past

RocketCat sez

All you young whipper-snappers who think that science fiction was invented in 1977 with the first Star Wars movie, I have to inform you that you are sadly mistaken. SF was old when your great-great-grandfather was born. Get a load of this:

  • "Blaster" dates back to 1925 in Nictzin Dyalhis' When the Green Star Waned. By the time the term was used in the first Star Wars movie it was fifty-two years old.
  • "Disintegrator ray" dates back to 1898 in Garrett Serviss' Edison's Conquest of Mars.
  • "Needler" dates back to 1934 in E.E."Doc" Smith's The Skylark of Valeron.
  • "Stunner" dates back to 1944 in C. M. Kornbluth's Fire-Power.
  • Isaac Asimov invented "force-field blades" in his 1952 novel David Starr, Space Ranger, which was the father of the light-saber.
  • There was a form of "virtual reality" in Sir Arthur C. Clarke's 1956 novel The City and the Stars, and a more limited form in E.E."Doc" Smith's 1930 story Skylark Three.
  • "Tractor Beam" had its roots in the 1928 novel Crashing Suns by Edmond Hamilton, where it is called the attractive ray. Also in 1928 E.E."Doc" Smith's novel The Skylark of Space had attractors which drew an object closer and repellors which pushed objects farther away. The first use of the term "tractor beam" is in Doc Smith's 1931 novel Spacehounds of IPC. Thirty-five years later in 1966 the term was borrowed by the TV show Star Trek. Eleven years later in 1977 it showed up in the first Star Wars movie.
  • "Force Fields" seem to have their origin in E.E."Doc" Smith's 1930 novel Skylark Three. Ray screens defend against deadly weapon beams, and repellor fields turn back shells, missiles, and other weapons composed of matter (in other words it deflects them). In later science fiction, force fields and deflector shields stop both energy and matter, there is no longer two types of field.
  • Dreadnought is from the real world, refering to the largest most deadly type of seagoing warship, the first one was in 1906. The term was popularized for combat spacecraft in E.E."Doc" Smith's Lensman series, first appearing in 1937 inside Galactic Patrol. Smith did have a odd habit of spelling it "Dreadnaught".
  • Zero population growth is discussed in Walter Kately's 1930 story "The World of a Hundred Men."
  • Power from nuclear fusion appears in Gawain Edwards' 1930 story "A Rescue from Jupiter."
  • Atomic bombs are found in Sewell Wright's 1931 story "The Dark Side of Antri."
  • A "tiny computing machine about as large as the palm of a man's hand" (Palm PDA?) is featured in R. F. Starzl's 1931 story "If the Sun Died."
  • And an unprotected man exposed to the vacuum of space but did not explode appeared in Nathan Schachner and Arthur Zagat's 1932 story "Exiles of the Moon."

Of course you shouldn't try to go travel the space lanes without your official Space Cadet handbook (1952).

Or Ron Turner's Space Ace pop up book (1953).

Scientific Hardness

RocketCat sez

We are going to emphasize scientific accuracy here, is that clear? I'll let you have the accuracy slide once and a while, but don't make a habit of it and wash your hands afterwards. I want to see no Technobabble, a bare minimum of Handwavium, and low amounts of Unobtanium.

Burnside Scale of Science Fiction Hardness

Handwavium

Handwavium: It flat out violates laws of physics. We're waving our hands and saying pay no attention to the man behind the curtain. FTL is handwavium in its many forms. I tend to hold that all these designs that ignore thermodynamics are handwavium, as are force fields and gravitic whosimawatchises.

Ken Burnside

HANDWAVIUM

A substance with extraordinary properties, capable for example of withstanding a direct hit by a thermonuclear warhead. By extension, the term [which I stole from Chris Weuve's SFCONSIM-L discussion group] is applied to high TECHLEVEL engineering of any sort, especially if it falls outside the constraints of HARD SF.

A lot of people, me included, try to avoid arbitrary use of Handwavium, but the truth is that you can't travel the KNOWN GALAXY without it, because any FTL is pure Handwavium. So get used to it.

Applied Phlebotinum

"Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from a completely ad-hoc plot device"
David Langford, "A Gadget Too Far", as a corollary to Arthur C. Clarke's Third Law

Phlebotinum is the versatile substance that may be rubbed on almost anything to cause an effect needed by a plot. Examples include but are not limited to: nanotechnology, magic crystal emanations, pixie dust, and Green Rocks.

In essence, it is plot fuel. Without it, the story would grind to an abrupt halt. It's the science that powers the FTL drive on the starship so the characters can get somewhere, it's the magic that hatches the Egg MacGuffin so the protagonist can save an endangered species, it's the strange things unknown to science or magic that do basically anything. The reader does not know how Phlebotinum would work and the creators hope nobody cares.

According to Joss Whedon, during the DVD commentary for the pilot episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, the term "phlebotinum" originates from Buffy writer (and Angel co-creator) David Greenwalt's sudden outburst: "Don't touch the phlebotinum!" apropos of nothing. Whether or not he had the etymological connection in mind, "phlebotomy" is the drawing of blood, coincidentally appropriate in context.

If the phlebotinum in question is simply a physical substance with unusual/extreme properties you are almost certainly dealing with the element Unobtainium.

A.K.A. Handwavium. Compare Author Powers, Hand Wave, MacGuffin, Deus ex Machina, and A Wizard Did It. Contrast Misapplied Phlebotinum.

(ed note: see TV Trope page for list of examples)

Misapplied Phlebotinum

The case of a writer not quite getting their own head around his invention. An invention which is capable of great and astounding things (and often, of literally anything) is used exclusively for much lesser tasks. If you find that after a trip to the fridge you see that the Phlebotinum in question could be used to obsolete entire industries if not render the entire plot trivial then you're dealing with this trope.

Common victims of Misapplication include:
  • Faster-Than-Light Travel:
    • It's actually harder to conceive an FTL system that can't also double as a Weapon of Mass Destruction than it is to conceive one that can. And that's not even getting into the fact that, because of the way relativity works, FTL travel is logically equivalent to Time Travel...
  • Teleporters and Transporters:
    • The technology that allows your crew to travel from the Cool Starship to the planet and back without using a shuttle is the same technology that can park a live warhead in the enemy captain's lap without using a missile. It also makes a nifty Disintegrator Ray if you skip the "rematerialization" end of the process or, if it doesn't work by dematerializing, send the receiving end into the sun. Or only teleporting part of the target. And unless it's ludicrously expensive/has major side-effects, it can be used to greatly reduce shipping costs and delays, and could remove the need for any other planet-based vehicle (if it's cheap and practical enough, you wouldn't even need to walk). This could also be used to dispose of hazardous waste, removing the need for massive landfills or toxic waste dumps. If it converts matter into energy, and you have a way of storing that energy, you could use it as an alternative source of power: converting otherwise useless garbage into a viable power source for other things. This would change the face of society.
    • If the technology works by destroying and reconstructing, there are a number of possible uses that are rarely used, like bodily restoration after injury or death, copying/mass-production of reconstructible objects, copying/mass-production of people, etc.
  • Artificial Gravity:
    • If your Cool Starship has a device that can generate and manipulate Gravity irrespective of Mass then mounting Tractor Beams, Deflector Shields, Inertial Dampeners and even Engines may be redundant.
    • Note that it takes a really strong and accurately-placed gravity field to significantly change the trajectory of a laser beam or anything else moving at relativistic speeds - a field which, apart from theoretically consuming an extremely large amount of energy to maintain (depending on your flavour of Phlebotinum), might have unintended consequences.
    • However, manipulation of a gravity field probably won't get you to trans-light, unless you're in a "gravity is warp" model like GRT and use it to form an Alcubierre Drive.
  • Nanomachines: While they may have more limits in real life, it'd be easier to list the things you couldn't do with nanomachines capable of the kinds of tasks they do in fiction than the things you can, yet they're frequently introduced as a plot-device for one specific thing and never used for anything else.

It is, of course, possible to create Obvious Rule Patches and Required Secondary Powers for all these Phlebotina that prevent the above forms of misuse (and the really good writers even keep it from looking like a form of Fake Difficulty), but many writers merely take them as-is without thinking about the potential consequences.

(ed note: see TV Trope page for list of examples)

Unobtainium

Unobtanium: We can't build a physical example of it, but insofar as we can postulate that it can be built at all, the laws of physics say it would behave like thus and so. Calculating the range and damage drop offs of a laser of a given wavelength, aperture size, input energy and conversion efficiency to make a weapon is pretty much unobtainium right now. While Handwavium and Technobabble tell you what you CAN do, Unobtainium usually tells you what is NOT possible.

Ken Burnside

Unobtainium: Of many kinds. Sophisticated materials science is one of the major areas of advancement in this particular universe. Of particular note: deuterium slush, metastable metallic hydrogen, helium-3 and antimatter (more specifically, antideuterium slush) for power, room-temperature superconductors, sapphiroids (the trade name for the high-grade kind is Adamant™ – not adamantium, because it’s not an element; after all, transparent aluminum has been used, even if accurate), carbon nanotubes, highly refractory cerametals and metallic glasses, muon metals, strangelets, raw tangle – oh, and fun nonbaryonic things like exotic matter (you make stargate frames out of it), gluonic string (held together by the strong force, thus with the best tensile strength available), and so on and so forth. Less elementally, various nanofluids with fascinatingly exotic behavior, nanotech composites, and smart and biomimetic materials (living metal, nanowell-bearing programmable matter, etc.), computronium (okay, that’s not an element either, but…), and again, and so forth.

And medically speaking, of course, immortagens.

Unobtainium

Unobtainium is the exotic metal or other material that is needed to make the Applied Phlebotinum of a story work. Without it, all your nifty machines and plot-enabling gadgets quit functioning.

Some forms of unobtainium are based on real physics, but beyond the current scope of human engineering, such as room-temperature superconductors; they would revolutionize just about every form of technology, but they are not in and of themselves dangerous or based on some exotic physics-bending principle.

Others are more fantastic "high-grade" unobtainium, such as antimatter, which would be a revolutionary way of storing huge amounts of energy, if it didn't violently undergo mutual annihilation with any conventional matter it comes into contact with, including air molecules and the walls of whatever you're trying to store the damn stuff in. And if it could be made to exist for more than a few minutes.

The most common varieties of unobtainium in fiction sit somewhere in the middle, like materials so resistant to heat and/or damage as to be Nigh Invulnerable compared to other, similar substances. Materials such as mithril, adamantium, and orichalcum (and all variant spellings thereof) are the fantasy version. Thunderbolt Iron is especially popular in fiction (and has some basis in reality – until furnaces were invented, it was the best source of refined iron).

Much mad science uses unobtanium, such as chemicals with impossible properties, universal solvents that can dissolve anything in the blink of an eye, super-explosives that make nitroglycerin look like a weak cough, and plenty of other funny-colored solutions. Following this would be medical and/or chemical wish-fulfillers; Classical real-world alchemy casually referred to carmot, the base substance of the Philosopher's Stone, and Azoth, either the "universal medicine" or "universal solvent". The ancient Greek writer Plato referred to "orichalcum" (Greek for "mountain bronze") in his description of Atlantis.

In Science Fiction, it will usually take one of three flavors: whatever stuff makes Faster-Than-Light Travel possible, closely followed by the stuff that can mess with gravity (if they're not one and the same), and finally, the stuff they make Humongous Mecha and Alien spacecraft out of, which is why they tend to be effectively immune from earthly weapons or environmental damage.

For Willing Suspension of Disbelief, authors may pick out something actively being researched within the scientific community at the time of writing and run with it. Naturally, this risks dating the work when Science Marches On and today's "super technology" buzzword becomes the next generation's comic-book junk science. The current favorite in hard sci-fi is Helium-3 – believed by many to be the fuel of choice for those nifty fusion reactors that should be perfected any time now. Theoretically, it's a safe large-scale energy source with few environmental side effects. But more importantly, though, there's extremely little of it on Earth; on the Moon, it's Not Rare Over There — which would provide a good reason to go there.

See Also: Minovsky Physics when the Unobtainium has well-thought-out properties that are strictly adhered to, and its opposite, Green Rocks, when it can do anything and everything the plot demands.

(ed note: see TV Trope page for list of examples)

Technobabble

Technobabble: "We've reversed the polarity of the tetryon flow through the main deflector dish, and the Borg's shields have dropped, sir." Or, "His midichlorians are more powerful than Yoda's!" or "Our spaceship is pulled through the aether by the outrage of honest politicians." are all examples of technobabble. Technobabble need not be bad, though in general it's only noticed when it is done poorly.

Ken Burnside

In my opinion, the way to make technobabble that doesn't look like a ridiculous word-salad is to add just enough real science to stub your toe on and fool the reader into thinking it is actually plausible.

  • Lucky Starr and the Moons of Jupiter by Isaac Asimov: Lucky and his side-kick are in a corridor of a spaceship. Dr. Panner traps them by "short-circuiting" a force field across the corridor. The "stub your toe" bit is the implication that force fields act like electricity, and can be redirected along an unintended path.

  • Dreadnought by Thorarinn Gunnarsson: The gargantuan robot Dreadnought berserker is surrounded by a gargantuan defensive force field that also stops all sensors. Of course while you are prevented from using sensors to see inside the force field, neither can the Dreadnought see out.

    So the Dreadnought "grounds" the force field to its hull. This means it can put its sensors on stalks (also grounded to the force field) and poke the sensors through the force field so the Dreadnought can see. Anything grounded to the field can penetrate the field.

    The clever Starwolves realize their fighter starships can penetrate the force field as well, if they sneak up and ground themselves to the sensor. This allows them to slip inside the force field, where they wreck havoc on the Dreadnought.

    The "stub your toe" bit is again the implication that force fields act like electricity. In the real world, electrical grounding is done to prevent user contact with dangerous voltage when electrical insulation fails. The author is hoping this sound plausibly close to "grounding yourself to a force field will prevent it from hurting you."

  • Startide Rising by David Brin: the humans working with the alien starship had to check all the psionic "impedance" of all the connections in order to avoid leaking telekinetic static. The "stub your toe" bit is the implication that psionic telekinetics acts like electricity, and various materials put up various levels of resistance to a telekinetic current.

  • The Door Into Shadow by Diane Duane: one of the protagonist cannot deal with a monster because he did not know the "protocol" for a brainburn.
    The "stub your toe" bit is the way the scientific sounding word "protocol" is being substituted for "sequence of steps in the magic spell that the protagonist wants to cast on the monster".

A Random Technobbable Table

Oh technobabble, how we love thee. Have you ever found yourself playing some White Star and realising that you're going to have to pull some random sci-fi jargon out of your (expletive deleted)? Well, this table should help. Just roll 1d6 (ordinary six-sided dice) three times to build your technobabble phrase.

1d6 RollFirst WordSecond WordThird Word
1PositronBurstCapacitor
2AuxiliaryRadiationController
3ParticleTunnelCo-ordinator
4WaveRelayEngine
5QuantumFieldCortex
6PolarizationFluxPattern

(Example: if your die rolls were 6, 3, and 5; your technobabble phrase would be "Polarization Tunnel Cortex")

Hand Wave

A Hand Wave (also memetically called "Scotch Tape") is any explanation involving the backstory, a retcon, or a use of phlebotinum, which is noteworthy for its lack of detail or coherence. The name comes from academia and techy-land, where a person explaining a process on a whiteboard gets to a part that is not well defined or important so just waves their hand around to indicate that Stuff Happens, then moves on to the important goodies.

Typically, the use of this trope is an indicator of bad writing; a good author is able to explain plot points with the utmost detail without interrupting the story's momentum.

But sometimes, it's better to gloss over something trivial and get on with the story. Tropes Are Tools. When skillfully done, a handwave can make things plausible enough so that the audience achieves a Willing Suspension of Disbelief. It can also just turn the whole detail and its inexplicability into a joke. Scotch tape may not be strong, it may not be pretty, but it may be much better to have some sort of explanation than to have nothing at all.

The Watson is often a valuable source of Scotch Tape. In Science Fiction shows, a handwave is usually conducted with Techno Babble. In fact, an alternate name for Phlebotinum is Handwavium. In the industry, the vague and generic direction given by management to actors, designers, editors and so on is sometimes known as "hand waving", as it is frequently accompanied by a lot of gesturing.

(ed note: see TV Trope page for list of examples)

Techno Babble

Doctor: Looks like a spatio-temporal hyperlink.
Mickey: What's that?
Doctor: No idea, just made it up. Didn't want to say "Magic Door."
Doctor Who, "The Girl in the Fireplace"

Any impressive- and scientific-sounding, but ultimately nonsensical utterance, full of buzzwords.

Most common in Science Fiction (usually the softer kind), but military, medical and Police Procedural themed shows can also use it when they want the underlying technology to sound impressive.

Dishonest technician characters sometimes resort to vague, senseless "technical" babble to make up "serious problems" in the inner workings of a machine and offer to "fix" them for a high price.

When technobabble is used to justify a plot development, it is Scotch Tape. When it is used to solve a problem, it is a Polarity Reversal. When it is used to add to the genre feel, it is Narrative Filigree. Due to its historical use and abuse by sci-fi writers, Technobabble is nowadays played more and more often for laughs or parodied in some way.

(ed note: see TV Trope page for list of examples)

MacGuffinite

To this list I'd like to add the term "MacGuffinite". It comes from the term "MacGuffin", popularized by director Alfred Hitchcock. "MacGuffin" means a plot device that motivates the characters and advances the story, but has little other relevance to the story. Examples of a MacGuffin include meaning of "rosebud" in Citizen Kane, the priceless statue in The Maltese Falcon, the Heart of the Ocean necklace in Titanic, and the mineral unobtainium in Avatar.

I define "MacGuffinite" as some valuable ore, substance, or commodity that hopefully introduces no unintended consequences to the SF universe you are creating. You have to be real careful, because unintended consequences everywhere. You have to carefully think things through.

The main MacGuffinite for a hard SF universe is something valueable enough to make an extensive manned presence in space a paying proposition. No MacGuffinite = no reason for people to be living in space = a really dull science fiction story.

Burnside Recommendations

The ratio of Unobtainium to Handwavium to Technobabble defines how "hard" your setting will seem to be to the reader. One of the reasons why I (Ken Burnside) love Mote in God's Eye is that they (authors Larry Niven and Jerry Pournelle) have only two blatant pieces of handwavium (the Drive and Field) and they quite carefully worked out the ripple effects of them before using them. Mote has a very high Unobtainium quotient, as does a lot of Heinlein's space fiction.

The Exordium series has a lot of well reasoned out Handwavium that's applied consistently, but has very little that's directly constrained by Unobtainium (A chief example of Unobtainium is the Tenno glyphs). It also uses very little technobabble, though it uses some (mostly when dealing with aliens).

Most of the Lensman series can be seen as Pure Technobabble with a bit of Handwavium thrown in to anchor it in plausibility.

Star Trek and most television SF is a mixture of pure technobabble and some handwavium. Things work because they make the plot work. Things fail because if they don't the plot fails.

Technobabble can easily lead to a farcical read.

Ken Burnside

Mohs Scale of Science Fiction Hardness

"The fun, and the material for this article, lies in treating the whole thing as a game. I've been playing the game since I was a child, so the rules must be quite simple. They are: for the reader of a science-fiction story, they consist of finding as many as possible of the author's statements or implications which conflict with the facts as science currently understands them. For the author, the rule is to make as few such slips as he possibly can."
Hal Clement, Whirligig World

Speculative Fiction fanatics are always raving about how "hard" the science is in various stories — but it's not like you can rub a story with a piece of quartz and see if it leaves a scratch on the plot. So what is "hardness" in SF? Why do some people want it? And how do we put a number to it?

Beginning with the first question: "Hard" Science Fiction is firmly grounded in reality, with only a few fantastic flights of fancy not justified by science, or with the technology being nonexistent in today's world but probably scientifically possible at some point. "Soft" Sci-Fi is more flexible on the rules. Even the fantastical aspects of the story will show a divide — in hard SF, they operate through strict, preferably physical, laws, where in soft SF they work in whatever way suits the story best. What this leads to for hard SF is a raised bar for the amount of scientific research the writer must put into the story, and usually this is shown quite clearly.

Example: a character is shown a machine for traveling into the past and asks, "How does it work?"

  • In soft SF: "You sit in this seat, set the date you want, and pull that lever."

  • In hard SF: "A good question with an interesting answer. Please have a seat while I bring you up to speed on the latest ideas in quantum theory, after which I will spend a chapter detailing an elaborate, yet plausible-sounding connection between quantum states, the unified field theory, and the means by which the brain stores memory, all tied into theories from both Albert Einstein and Stephen Hawking."

  • In really hard SF: "It doesn't. Time travel to the past is impossible."

Unfortunately for analytical purposes, this pattern is not universal - hard SF stories can skip over the details as long as the basic explanation is correct given what's been established so far. Therefore, regardless of the typical stylistic flourishes of hard SF, the only way to define it is self-consistency and scientific accuracy.

Which leads us to the Scale.

  1. Science In Genre Only: The work is unambiguously set in the literary genre of Science Fiction, but scientific it is not. Applied Phlebotinum is the rule of the day, often of the Nonsensoleum kind, Green Rocks gain New Powers as the Plot Demands, and both Bellisario's Maxim and the MST3K Mantra apply. Works like Futurama, Tengen Toppa Gurren Lagann, The DC and Marvel universes, and The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy fall in this class.

  2. World Of Phlebotinum: The universe is full of Applied Phlebotinum with more to be found behind every star, but the Phlebotinum is dealt with in a fairly consistent fashion despite its lack of correspondence with reality and, in-world, is considered to lie within the realm of scientific inquiry. Works like E. E. “Doc” Smith's Lensman series, Neon Genesis Evangelion, Star Trek: The Original Series, and StarCraft fall in this category.

    A subclass of this class (arguably 2.5 on the scale) contains stories that are generally sound, except the physics aren't our own. Plot aside, they are often a philosophical exploration of a concept no longer considered true (such as Aristotelian physics), or never true in the first place (e.g. two spatial dimensions instead of three). Some of Arthur C. Clarke's stories fall here. However, given the overlap with fantasy, it can prove tricky to even classify a story as SF.

  3. Physics Plus: Stories in this class once again have multiple forms of Applied Phlebotinum, but in contrast to the prior class, the author aims to justify these creations with real and invented natural laws — and these creations and others from the same laws will turn up again and again in new contexts. Works like Schlock Mercenary, David Weber's Honor Harrington series, David Brin's Uplift series, and the 2003-2009 Battlestar Galactica fall in this class. Most Real Robot shows fall somewhere between Classes 2 and 3.

  4. One Big Lie: Authors of works in this class invent one (or, at most, a very few) counterfactual physical laws and writes a story that explores the implications of these principles. Most works in Alan Dean Foster's Humanx Commonwealth series, the Ad Astra board games and Robert A. Heinlein's Farnham's Freehold fall in this category, as do many of Vernor Vinge's books.

    This class also includes a subclass (4.5 on the scale) we call One Small Fib, containing stories that include only a single counterfactual device (often FTL Travel), but for which the device is not a major element of the plot. Many Hal Clement novels (e.g. Mission Of Gravity, Close to Critical) and Freefall fall within the subclass.

  5. Speculative Science: Stories in which there is no "big lie" — the science of the tale is (or was) genuine speculative science or engineering, and the goal of the author to make as few errors with respect to known fact as possible. The first two books in Robert L. Forward's Rocheworld series and Robert A. Heinlein's The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress fall in this class.

    A subclass of this (5.5 on the scale) is Futurology: stories which function almost like a prediction of the future, extrapolating from current technology rather than inventing major new technologies or discoveries. (Naturally, Zeerust is common in older entries.) Gattaca, Planetes, The Machine Stops by E. M. Forster, and the more Speculative Fiction works of Jules Verne fall in this subclass.

  6. Real Life (aka Fiction in Genre Only): A Shared Universe which spawned its own genre, known as "Non-Fiction". Despite the various problems noted at Reality Is Unrealistic, it is almost universally agreed that there is no other universe known so thoroughly worked out from established scientific principles. The Apollo Program, World War II, and Woodstock fall in this class.

(ed note: see TV Trope page for list of examples)

The Tough Guide to the Known Galaxy: Hard SF

HARD SF

Written SF that adheres, or tries to adhere, to plausible science and technology. Therefore it generally implies a fairly modest TECHLEVEL; the most anal Hard SF may even preclude FTL. For obvious reasons, plausible is pretty much in the eye of the beholder.

It is also a moving target. In fact, you can usually date Hard SF particularly well by its technology, which will lean heavily on whatever technical or scientific speculation was fashionable about five years before a book's publication date. If this did not pan out (and mostly it hasn't), the resulting Hard SF will sound very dated within a decade or so.

Rules Of Thumb

Robinson's First Law of space combat

Something hitting at 3 km/sec (kips) delivers kinetic energy broadly equal to its mass in TNT.

Rick Robinson
Robinson's Second Law of space combat

For every kilogram of handwavium you remove from a setting, you add about 10 cubic meters of impossible to maintain plumbing.

Rick Robinson

Most people instinctively know Burnside's Zeroth Law of space combat:

Burnside's Zeroth Law of space combat

Science fiction fans relate more to human beings than to silicon chips.

Ken Burnside

That is, while it might make more logical sense to have an interplanetary battle waged between groups of computer controlled spacecraft, it would be infinitely more boring than a battle between groups of human crewed spacecraft. For more details go here.

Yes, there are exceptions to Burnside's Zeroth Law in science fiction, but they are few, far in between, and the result of exceptionally skilled authors. These are the "exceptions that Test the rule" (the original aphorism is from the Latin, and the word "probat" in this context should be translated as "test", not "prove"). Examples include "Longshot" by Vernor Vinge, "Sun Up" by A. A. Jackson and Howard Waldrop and the Bolo stories by Keith Laumer et al.

Another annoying fact is that realistic spacecraft propulsion systems are incredibly weak. They will take forever to push the ship to anywhere farther than, say, Luna. So SF authors try to jazz things up by postulating more powerful propulsion systems. Alas, they then run full tilt into Jon's Law for SF authors.

Jon's Law for SF authors is closely related to Niven's Kzinti Lesson. It states:

Jon's Law, part 1

Any interesting space drive is a weapon of mass destruction. It only matters how long you want to wait for maximum damage.

Jon Souza
It goes on to say:
Jon's Law, part 2

Interesting is equal to "whatever keeps the readers from getting bored."

Jon Souza

As an example, a spacecraft with an ion drive capable of doing a meager 0.0001g of acceleration may be scientifically realistic and the exhaust is relatively harmless. However, to most of the audience it will not be interesting. "Nine months just to travel to Mars? How boring!"

The author, not wanting his book sales to go flat, hastily re-fits the hero's spacecraft with a fusion drive. The good news is that the ship can make it to Mars in twelve days flat. The bad news is that the ship's exhaust is putting out enough terawatts of energy to cut another ship in two, or make the spaceport look like it was hit by a tactical nuclear weapon.

The author can still use the drive, but must consider the logical ramifications of the wide-spread civilian availability of the equivalent of thermonuclear weapons. Consider: the more energy the drive contains , the worse the damage if an accident occurs. How would you like to have the captain of the Exxon Valdez skippering a tramp freighter with an antimatter drive? That brilliant mushroom cloud you see marks the former location of Clinton-Sherman spaceport. The more devastation a propulsion system can wreck, the shorter the leash the captains will be on.

So one of the logical ramification is that if drives are too powerful, there won't be any colorful tramp freighters or similar vessels. As a matter of fact, civilian spacecraft will probably by law be required to have a remote control self-destruct device that the Patrol can use to eliminate any ship that looks like it is behaving erratically or suspiciously.

Now, keep in mind that the author could use Jon's Law as an opportunity instead of a liability. If an evil interplanetary megacorporation is callously oppressing its blue-collar employees, the corporation could be in for a rude surprise when the blue-collar truckers piloting the fusion-drive transport spacecrafts realize they are in control of the functional equivalent of strategic nuclear weapons. This could make a labor strike for better working conditions most entertaining.


Most of the nasty effects of Jon's Law are due to the propulsion system's exhaust. The presence of an exhaust is because rockets use Newton's Third Law (the one about action with equal and opposite reaction). Canny SF authors postulate some kind of hand-waving reactionless drive in an attempt to avoid Jon's Law. Reactionless means no exhaust is required. You feed electricity in, and the ship is magically accelerated. The "gravitic impellers" from David Weber's HONOR HARRINGTON series is an example of a reactionless drive.

Unfortunately such canny SF authors then run smack dab into Burnside's Advice, which is;

Burnside's Advice

Friends Don't Let Friends Use Reactionless Drives In Their Universes

Ken Burnside

The trick is making a reactionless drive that doesn't give you the ability to shatter planets with the Naval equivalent of a rowboat (which would throw a big monkey wrench into the author's carefully crafted arrangement of combat spacecraft). Reactionless drives, with no fuel/propellant constraints, will give you Dirt Cheap Planet Crackers. If you have a reactionless drive, and stellar economics where most of the common tropes exist (privately owned tramp freighters), you also have gravitic drive missiles. And avoiding Planet Crackers Done Real Cheap is almost impossible to justify on logical grounds, the SF author is faced with quite a daunting task.

Unscientific Hollywood

I often bitterly complain about the lack of scientific accuracy in TV and movie SF shows. Todd Boyce of Ninja Magic actually works in Hollywood, and explained to me the facts of life about media SF:

To boil down all the possible reasons, it is because of one or more of the following:

0) It's a business

This is a business venture - you put money in with the expectation that more money will come out. The general audience is historically happier watching space ships woosh by shooting glowing bolts of energy than they are watching a slowly rotating spaceship lazily drift across the screen. If you're putting tens or hundreds of millions of dollars on the line, you go for the shooty-wooshy space ships every time, pure and simple.

1) TPTB (The powers that be) don't care.

If what's on the screen looks good, and the storytelling is sufficient, then scientific accuracy rarely if ever matters. If they don't care that cars don't blow up when shot with bullets, why should they care about the theoretical effects of FTL travel.

2) There isn't time to dissect and fix scientific inaccuracies

Once production on a movie is started, it is an unstoppable steamroller with a tight deadline. If the script says a spaceship wooshes by, the people working on the film don't have time to work out what kind of propulsion it uses — they just make the engine glow, push it across the screen in an interesting way and move on to the next shot.

3) The decisions are made in too many places and it isn't even thought about except by people who aren't in positions to make judgment calls.

A jet fighter shoots missiles at a big space ship hovering above a city. The director tells the visual effects supervisor to make it happen. The visual effects supervisor tells the digital effects supervisor to make a space ship and to make a jet fighter woosh by and shoot some missiles at the space ship while he goes off and directs the on-set pyro effects.

The digital effects supervisor tells the modeling supervisor to have his team make a space ship and jet fighter and tells the FX supervisor to have his team make some missiles shoot, engine effects, vapor trails, smoke trails and whatnot.

The modelers build a jet fighter and give it harpoon missiles. The modeling supervisor says it looks good. The digital effects supervisor says it looks good. The modelers are done with their job and get put on another production.

The FX supervisor hands the model to the FX team who look at the fighter and say "um...that's not really the right kind of missile to do an air-to-air attack..." "Sorry, the modeler is off the show and these have been approved. Can't change it now" is the response. So the FX team launches harpoon missiles at the space ship.

The final shot is shown to the director/visual effects supervisor and it looks cool, but don't pick up on the fact that the wrong missile is being used. It's approved and put into the film.

(You're probably sensing that this is a true story and know what movie I was working on at the time.)

4) The script-reader's gauntlet

Writers use descriptive language to express action in their script. They don't often get into technical details because each page of a script is supposed to represent roughly one minute of screen time. A writer who spends his time describing the intricacies of a space ships propulsion system is a writer who finds his scripts in the script-reader's trash can.

People who write heavily technical novels are almost always terrible script-writers as they have difficulty working within the confines and limitations of that medium. The scripts that pass through the script-reader's gauntlet will likely be of the less technical variety.

5) People in film making have education in film making, they don't usually have PhD's in physics/astrophysics. And people who have PhD's in physics/astrophysics don't usually know how to make a good film.

It's not that they aren't smart enough, it's that their focus of expertise is in other areas. That's why they hire consultants if they're trying to do something with any degree of accuracy, but even then, accuracy is desirable only if it doesn't interfere with the storytelling. Often, things are set in motion that can't be changed after the fact anyway and you just have to shrug your shoulders and say "That's the way it has to be" if you learn too late of some scientific ramification.

6) The power of ego

You know how people fall all over themselves when a famous actor is nearby? Its worse when companies deal with well known directors. Just yesterday we were kicked out of the screening room during our dailies because Michael Bay was parking and MIGHT be needing it. With that sort of hysteria going on, are you going to be the one that walks up to him and say "this is totally unrealistic and you need to change it" knowing that saying so will mean the end of your employment?

What the director says goes, and few people have the will or the power to contradict him. Film making isn't usually done by committee, it is done by imperial decree and if the decree is that cars blow up when shot with bullets, then that is the way it is.

I'm sure there's a few others I've missed but, speaking of unrealism in Hollywood movies, I need to get back to work on a sequence involving bits of LA breaking off and sliding into the ocean because the Earth's magnetic field has collapsed.

I'm not kidding.

Todd Boyce

A Final Warning

But beware the dangers of reading this website {very big grin}. Tom Clark had this to say:

Ruined! It's all ruined! And it's all your fault. Particularly you, Nyrath!

I've been having to travel quite a bit lately, and for entertainment I've been reading David Drake's Lt. Leary series of novels. Pretty harmless space opera mostly, similar in vein to the Horatio Hornblower or (more accurately) Patrick O'Brian's series of books about Capt Jack Aubrey and surgeon/spy Stephen Maturin in the Royal Navy during the fight against Napolean.

The basic premise and plot didn't bother me, not even the "sail" metaphor Drake adopted for his FTL system. This drives the ships to be lightweight - a corvette like the Princess Cecille is about 150 meters long and weighs 1200 tons empty - and the ships are restricted to about 2-3.5 Gs of thrust. And yes, they land on planets. Lift-off must be a fairly leisurely affair. Propulsion in atmosphere is by "plasma thrusters" which use fusion bottles as a power source, and water as reaction mass. Outside the atmosphere, they use anti-matter powered High Drives to drive the ship. (They are also apparently converting normal matter to antimatter on the fly for energy. Nice bit of sorcery there.) So far, so good.

Then they get to the armament. The ships mount turreted plasma guns (which we already know won't work because of the work Nyrath has done on his Atomic Rockets page), but as he says its the meme that won't go away. But these are the secondary weapons....

Primary weapons of these ships are kinetic-kill weapons, anti-matter driven torpedoes launched from tubes in the side of the ship. Thirty-ton kinetic-kill torpedoes. And the Sissy carries twenty of them. (Which means half again her mass is weaponry...) Now, the torpedoes accelerate at 12 Gs, which is OK given that their targets only accelerate at 2 G usually...but then Drake goes on to say that the missiles can reach a maximum velocity of 0.6 C in combat conditions. And that they do so in 8 minutes.

Now, before I started hanging out here, I probably would have bought that statement at face value and driven on. But no...now my innocence has been lost, and it kept eating at me, until I started doing the numbers.

- At 12 G, and assuming zero initial velocity, it would take one of those torpedoes about 420 hours to reach that velocity. That's about 18 days, if you're counting. It would also cover 1.4E11 kilometers while its at it. Even with a 6:1 acceleration advantage, I don't want to think about how large a sphere a ship that can accelerate at 2 G continuous for 18 days would be... Did I mention that the torpedoes don't carry seekers on them? They have some sort of rudimentary command link control, but no terminal guidance seekers.

- At impact, each torpedo would unleash the kinetic equivalent of about 35,000 gigatons on its target. This is considerably more than I would expect to have to use to kill a ship-sized target....in fact, with 20 stowed rounds, the Sissie is a threat to a significant portion of the inhabited galaxy. (Since this is a relativistic weapon, I used the formula's found here.

In one book, two torpedoes miss their target and enter the upper atmosphere of an inhabited planet....and disappear harmlessly in "a flash of plasma". Ummm...sorry, don't think so. Even if 30 tons of missile turn into plasma on contact with the atmosphere (and at 0.6 C I don't think they'll have time to melt), they are still 30 tons of plasma moving at 0.6 C! So much for that inhabited planet.....

So...now I'm ruined. If Drake had just done a little math, and maybe set the terminal velocity of the torpedoes to 0.06 C, or even 0.006 C, things would have worked out much better. But no...now thanks to the "education" I've received here, slips like that come back to haunt me in my sleep.

Frankly, it would have been fine if Drake hadn't thrown that "0.6 C" number in there - the missiles have a high enough margin of acceleration versus the ships to make them a credible threat. It's just that, as one of H. Beam Piper's characters once said, "C makes for an awfully long lever." Ships capable of tossing around high-relativistic weapons become planet-killers in relatively short order. You don't need redirected asteroids - which is what brought about the end of galactic civilization the last go-round - to kill a civilization on a planet. One corvette with a load of torps can do it handily.

So a word to authors who like to throw around big numbers....Do the math first! Please!

I need the sleep....

Tom Clark
RocketCat sez

You say that knowing the science ruins your enjoyment of things with sketchy science? Boo-hoo, cry me a river. So I suppose your knowledge of grilled steak ruins your enjoyment of hamburgers that taste like cardboard? Well I guess we'd better forbid everybody from ever tasting a steak. They'll be happier that way.

By that idiot logic your knowledge of knowledge is ruining your enjoyment of life. Wrong. Thomas Gray said "Thought would destroy their paradise. No more; where ignorance is bliss, 'Tis folly to be wise." What a load of hooey. Sticking your head in the sand never works.

No, the solution is to demand higher quality SF like Tom Clark said, over and above the fact that scientific knowledge is worth knowing for its own sake.

Atomic Rockets notices

This week's featured addition is the Ehricke Fusion Ship

This week's featured addition is LANTR Lunar Transfer Vehicle

This week's featured addition is Space Forts

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