Relativity

Two axes, one speed, and a diagram that does the arguing

Put position across and time up, insist that light travels at forty-five degrees for everyone, and nearly every result in special relativity becomes something to read off rather than derive.

The clock that has to slow, and why no clock can refuse

One constant speed and one right-angled triangle force a moving clock to tick slower. The argument is Pythagoras, which is what makes it inescapable rather than merely surprising.

Now is a choice of slicing

Two events happening at the same time is not a fact about the events. It is a fact about who is asking, and different observers slice spacetime at different angles.

The length that depends on when, and is not really about length

A moving object is measured shorter. The contraction is real, it is not an illusion of light travel time, and it turns out to be a disagreement about simultaneity wearing a different costume.

Mass is a form of energy, which is not the same as a source of it

The famous equation is usually read as a promise that mass can be turned into energy. It says something stricter and stranger — that a mass is an energy already, sitting there, whether or not anything ever releases it.

Speeds that refuse to add, and the quantity that does

Run at half the speed of light, throw something forward at half the speed of light, and the result is not the speed of light. It is four-fifths of it, and there is a variable in which the arithmetic is still simple addition.

The twin who comes back younger

If motion slows a clock, and motion is relative, each twin should find the other younger — and yet when they meet, one of them has aged less. The asymmetry is not in the speed and not in the acceleration; it is in which worldline is straight.

The shift that survives at right angles

For sound it matters which of the two is moving, and the two answers differ. For light there is one answer — their geometric mean — and a term with no classical counterpart at all: a source going past at closest approach, with its distance not changing, is still shifted.

The quantity nobody argues about

Relativity takes away the length of a rod and the duration of an event and hands back exactly one thing in their place. Its hyperbolae are what put a scale on the tilted axes of a spacetime diagram — without which the diagram is a picture with no units on it.

Magnetism is electricity seen sideways

The force on a charge moving beside a current-carrying wire is magnetic in the laboratory and purely electrostatic in the charge's own frame. Both calculations give the same answer, and the drift speed that makes them agree corresponds to a Lorentz factor differing from one in the twenty-sixth decimal place.

The invariant that survives a boost

Energy and momentum are both answers to the question "how fast is it going, and according to whom". One combination of them is not, and that combination is the mass — which is why two photons of 511 keV can be a thing of mass 1.022 MeV or a thing of no mass at all, depending only on the angle between them.

The pole that fits and does not fit

A twenty-metre pole is carried through a ten-metre barn at 0.866 of light speed, and both doors shut behind it. In the pole's own frame the barn is five metres long and there is plainly no room. Both accounts are correct, and the doors' closings are 57.8 nanoseconds apart in one of them.

The sky that crowds into a cone

A boost does not only shift frequencies. It remaps directions, so half of everything a fast traveller can see is squeezed into a forward cone of half-angle about 1/γ — and because brightness carries four powers of the Doppler factor, what lies ahead is overwhelming and what lies behind has effectively gone.

The clock that is wrong in two directions

A satellite clock loses 7.2 microseconds a day to its speed and gains 45.9 to its height. The two effects have opposite signs, different sizes and different dependence on the orbit, so there is exactly one altitude where they cancel — and 38.6 microseconds a day, left alone, is eleven and a half kilometres of position error.

The mass that is missing

A helium nucleus weighs less than the two protons and two neutrons it is made of. The shortfall is not an error in the weighing; it is the binding energy, converted at the going rate. One curve of that shortfall against size explains why both fusion and fission release energy.

Which came first, and who decides

Two events far apart can happen in either order, depending on who is asked, and both answers are correct. That is not a loophole in causality but the reason causality survives at all — because the pairs whose order is negotiable are exactly the pairs neither of which could have caused the other.

The contraction no photograph shows

Every textbook picture of a relativistically moving object drawn between 1905 and 1959 showed it squashed. A camera would have shown it turned. The contraction is entirely real in the measurement that defines it, and a photograph is not that measurement.

The turn that two pushes leave behind

Two boosts in different directions do not compose to a boost. The product carries a rotation, so a frame carried once round a closed path comes back turned — and the size of that turn was the factor of two standing between the calculated and the measured splitting of a spectral line.

The push that does not point where the body goes

Newton's second law survives relativity in the form F = dp/dt and in no other. Written as F = ma it fails outright, and not merely by a factor — at high speed a body pushed at forty-five degrees accelerates at eighty, because the same force is divided by γ³ along the motion and by γ across it.

The field nobody can transform away

A wire's magnetic field is an electric field seen from the wrong frame, and a charged plate's electric field is a magnetic one seen the same way. Neither trick works on a light wave. Two combinations of E and B are the same for every observer, and which side of one line a field sits on is a fact nothing about the observer can alter.

The string that breaks between two rockets

Two rockets a metre apart, given identical acceleration programmes, stay a metre apart in the laboratory for ever. A string tied between them breaks anyway. Nothing pulls on it, nothing in the laboratory moves relative to anything else, and the string is stretched — because the distance it has to span is measured on the rockets' slices of simultaneity and not on the laboratory's.

The collision that wastes most of the energy

The LHC's two beams carry 6,500 GeV each and 13,000 GeV are available. Fire one of those beams at a stationary block of copper instead and 110 GeV are available — the other 12,890 have gone into the motion of the wreckage and cannot be used for anything. The difference is a square root, and every accelerator built since 1970 is a consequence of it.

The box of light that weighs something

Two photons flying apart have a mass between them, though neither has one. Seal them in a mirrored box and the box is heavier than it was empty, by exactly the energy inside divided by c². Mass is not a property of stuff and it does not add up — it is a property of a system, and 99 per cent of the mass of everything anybody has ever weighed is of this kind.

The ring where the two beams disagree

Send light both ways round a closed loop on a turntable and the two beams come back at different times, by 4AΩ/c² — an expression with no refractive index in it, no shape of the loop and no position of the axis. The same number is what a set of clocks round the rim fails to close by, which is the sharper statement — on a rotating platform there is no global simultaneity to be had.

The wall of silence behind a rocket that never stops

Hold a constant acceleration and the worldline is a hyperbola asymptotic to a light ray — so there is a light ray that never catches it. An observer who never stops accelerating has a horizon a distance c²/a behind, made by nothing but the motion, and at one gravity it sits 0.97 light years back. Nothing is there. No mass, no surface, no field.

The ship that never arrives at c

Accelerate at one gravity and never stop. The speed creeps toward light and never reaches it, and meanwhile the galactic centre is twenty shipboard years away and Andromeda twenty-nine. What makes the journey survivable is that rapidity has no ceiling; what makes it impossible is that the fuel goes as the exponential of the same quantity.

The two clocks that flew in opposite directions

Two caesium clocks were flown round the world in 1971, one each way, and came back disagreeing with the clock left behind — one having lost 59 nanoseconds and the other gained 273. Height alone would have made both gain. The sign flip comes from the ground already moving eastward at 400 metres a second before the aircraft took off.

The temperature of an acceleration

Empty space is empty for an observer who is not accelerating. For one who is, the same state of the same field is a thermal bath at a temperature proportional to the acceleration — and the constant of proportionality is 4 × 10⁻²¹ kelvin for every metre per second squared, which is why nobody has felt it. What the effect changes is not what can be measured but what a particle is.

The speed that cannot be measured one way

Every measurement of the speed of light ever made has sent it out and brought it back. Measuring it one way needs two clocks that agree, and making two distant clocks agree needs a rule about when the far one should read what — which is a choice, not a discovery. The constancy of c is a fact about round trips; its isotropy is a convention, chosen because it makes the equations simple.

Nothing is allowed to be rigid

A rigid body would move its far end at the instant its near end was pushed, which is a signal at infinite speed. Relativity forbids it — not approximately, and not as a limit that a hard enough material approaches. What follows is a ceiling on how stiff matter may be, and that ceiling caps the mass of every neutron star.

The fuel a starship needs

Tsiolkovsky's logarithm survives relativity with one substitution: what adds is the rapidity rather than the velocity. The result is that a photon rocket reaches half light speed on a mass ratio of the square root of three, and a chemical one reaches a tenth of it on a mass ratio with three thousand digits.

The motion that measures faster than light

Take two photographs of a jet a year apart, measure how far a blob moved across the sky, divide by a year, and the answer can be seven times the speed of light. Nothing has broken. The blob came closer between the two pictures, so the second flash had less far to travel and arrived early, and the interval between arrivals is not the interval between departures.

The brightness that is not the same for everyone

A moving source is not merely shifted in colour. Its light is concentrated forwards, so the same lamp is enormously brighter seen coming than seen going — by the fourth power of one number, which for a jet at ninety-nine per cent of light speed is a factor of a thousand million. The reason is that only one combination of intensity and frequency is the same for every observer, and everything else follows from it.

The disc that cannot be spun

Set a disc turning and measure its circumference with rulers carried on the rim. They lie along their own direction of motion and are contracted, so more of them fit; rulers along a radius lie across the motion and are not. The ratio of circumference to radius is therefore not two pi, in a frame where nothing is happening but rotation — and Einstein said that was what set him looking for gravity in geometry.

Everything from an exchange of pulses

Send a flash every second and ask how often the far observer receives them. That one measured ratio generates time dilation, the composition of velocities and the twin result, with no coordinate transformation written down anywhere and no convention chosen about what "at the same time" means far away.

The clock that does not feel the turn

Proper time is the integral of dt over gamma, which presumes that a clock's rate depends on its speed and on nothing else — not on its acceleration, not on how long it has been accelerating. That is an assumption about clocks rather than a theorem about spacetime, and the twin result is empty without it.

The diagram a ruler cannot read

A spacetime diagram is drawn on flat paper, and the geometry it depicts is not flat. The tick marking one second on a moving observer's axis sits further from the origin than the stationary observer's, by an amount that is not the Lorentz factor and means nothing at all.

The centre that is not a place

The centre of mass is replaced in relativity by the centre of energy, which moves uniformly and does everything the old point did — except be the same point for everybody. Boost a spinning body and its centre moves, so a spinning object has no centre at all.

The one quantity a boost leaves alone

Energy, momentum, length, duration, density and field strength all change when the observer moves. Electric charge does not, and the whole of the field-transformation argument rests on it — so it is worth asking what the evidence is.

The space that speeds live in

Speeds do not add, and the reason is that the set of all possible velocities is not a flat space. It is a hyperbolic plane of curvature minus one in rapidity — and the rotation two boosts leave behind is exactly the area of the triangle they make in it.

The longest way round is the shortest clock

Of all the routes between two events, the one with no acceleration in it carries the most time on its own clock. That is the opposite of the Euclidean statement about straight lines, it comes entirely from one minus sign, and in a gravitational field it is why a thrown ball follows the path it does.

The drag that was only an addition

Light in moving water is carried along by it, but only partly — by a fraction of the water's speed that depends on the refractive index in a way nobody could account for. Fresnel invented the coefficient to save a theory, Fizeau measured it in 1851, and it sat unexplained for half a century. It is the first term of the relativistic velocity addition and nothing else.

The cone a decay cannot leave

A particle at rest breaks into two and they go opposite ways. Set the parent moving and the whole pattern folds forward — into a cone with a hard edge, beyond which nothing is emitted at any rest-frame angle at all. The energy spectrum that comes out is exactly rectangular, and the one number the boost leaves alone is how the parent is identified at all.

The transformation that never mentions light

Assume space and time are homogeneous, that space is isotropic, that two changes of frame compose into a third, and that the relativity principle holds. Those four leave exactly one free constant — and three possible worlds, one of them Galileo's and one of them Einstein's. Light appears nowhere in the derivation; it enters only when the constant has to be measured.

Charge and current are one thing

Ask what a boost leaves alone and the answer is charge. That answer forces the next one: a fixed charge in a contracting volume gives a density that transforms like a time component, and a current that transforms like a space one. So charge density and current density are the four parts of one object — and conservation of charge stops being an extra law and becomes the condition that makes the object exist.

Six numbers, one object

Three components of E and three of B mix into each other under a boost and never into anything else. Six numbers that transform among themselves are the independent entries of a four-by-four antisymmetric array, and writing them that way is not notation — it turns Maxwell's four equations into two, makes the two invariants the only two there could be, and shows that "electric" is a choice of axes rather than a kind of field.

What the light cones alone can decide

Keep nothing of spacetime but its light cones — which events could influence which — and ask how much geometry survives. With one dimension of space, almost none: any pair of increasing stretches of the two families of light lines preserves every cone and bends every straight worldline. With two or more, almost all of it: the only maps that keep every cone are Lorentz transformations, shifts and a uniform stretch, and nothing about straightness has to be assumed.

The five places infinity turns out to be

Flat spacetime goes on for ever in every direction, and it can still be drawn whole on a page. Squeeze each family of light rays with a function that keeps their order and the infinite plane becomes a diamond with every light cone still at 45°. The price is distance, which the picture no longer shows. What it shows instead is that infinity is not one place: observers slower than light all end at a single point, instants end at another, and light ends along a whole edge of its own.

The slope a spin leaves in a spectrum

An unpolarised parent decaying in flight gives its products a rectangle of energies. Give the parent a spin along its line of flight and the rectangle tilts, while its two edges stay exactly where they were. The tilt is the polarisation, it can be read without ever seeing which way the parent was going — and which variable it is read from decides how many decays the reading costs.

The plane in which three bodies are flat

A particle breaking into two gives each product a fixed energy; one breaking into three gives none of them one. What it gives instead is a plane of two invariant masses in which a decay with no forces spreads perfectly evenly inside a curved boundary — so every band, dark stripe and bright crossing a real decay draws there is a force, its spin, or a phase between two routes to the same three particles.

The rocket that leaves its fuel at home

A mirror pushed by a beam from the ground carries no propellant, and relativity gives its speed in closed form: its rapidity is ln(1 + 2E/mc²), the photon rocket's equation with the fuel left behind and every joule used twice. What stops it is not the energy, which can be stored for days, but diffraction, which fixes the distance over which the energy can be handed over — and so demands an acceleration of tens of thousands of g.

How big now is

Three earlier arguments have established that a global now is a choice, that part of the choice is convention, and that for a rotating observer no consistent global choice exists at all. What survives is a size. Every observer has a local now, and how local is computable: on the rotating Earth it is 785 kilometres to the nanosecond, and a freely falling frame is inertial over the tolerance times the distance to the centre, divided by two.

The body that has no temperature when it moves

Energy, momentum, length, duration and field strength all change when the observer moves. Temperature was argued about for sixty years, with three transformation laws proposed and each defended by people making no mistake. The resolution is that a moving blackbody is a perfect blackbody in every direction at a different temperature in each — so a thermometer's reading depends on where it is put, and the quantity the law was for is not there.

The count that no observer can disagree about

A moving body, it turns out, has no temperature. What it does have is an entropy, and every observer agrees about it — because entropy is the logarithm of a count of arrangements, and a count is a number. That one invariant, with energy and momentum being parts of one object, is enough to compute everything a temperature could not: what happens to the energy density, the entropy density, and the relation between them that having a temperature consists of.

The bath that pushes back

Moving through a bath of radiation is not free. The light arriving from ahead is blue-shifted and more intense and the light from behind is weaker, so a body absorbs more momentum from the front than from the back and slows down. That drag picks out the frame in which the radiation is isotropic — without violating relativity, because the laws are the same in every frame and the radiation is not.

The orbit that ages less than a throw

A clock in orbit and a clock thrown straight up leave the same point at the same moment and meet there again one period later. Both fall freely the whole way, so both follow paths of stationary proper time — and the thrown clock comes back 4.1 microseconds older. Even a clock held still by a rocket, which is not falling at all, beats the orbit. Free fall picks out a path that is stationary, not one that is longest.

The column that is hotter at the bottom

Two bodies in equilibrium have the same temperature — that is what equilibrium was supposed to mean. In a gravitational field it is false. A column left alone until nothing in it changes is warmer at the bottom by exactly the factor by which clocks there run slow, a part in ten million billion per metre on the Earth and more than a per cent across the outer kilometre of a neutron star, and near a black hole's horizon the equilibrium temperature grows without limit.

The right angle a fast collision closes

When one billiard ball strikes an identical one at rest, the two always leave at right angles — a fact every snooker player uses without knowing its proof. The proof is Newton's, and it fails for fast particles. Two protons leaving a collision at 1.9 GeV open at 70 degrees, not 90, and the narrowing follows one law, tan θ₁ tan θ₂ = 2/(γ + 1), in which the right angle is the slow limit. The circle that forced the right angle has been squashed into an ellipse by the energy the incoming particle carries as inertia.

The spring that becomes a light-clock

A mass on an ideal spring keeps the same period however far it swings — that is what makes it a clock. Give the mass the inertia relativity demands, pull it back far enough, and the clock breaks. The speed can never pass c, so a large swing spends almost all its time moving at nearly the speed of light, turning round abruptly at each end: the sine becomes a triangle, the period grows until it is simply the time light takes to cross the swing four times, and a clock riding on the mass ages a small fraction of what one beside it does.

The clock that runs slow because it is warm

Every atom in a gas is moving, and every moving clock runs slow. The first-order Doppler shifts of a hot gas cancel on average; the time dilation does not, because it has only one sign. A hydrogen maser at 40 °C runs slow by four parts in a hundred billion from this alone, a nucleus in a crystal runs slow even at absolute zero, and the first test of gravitational time dilation nearly drowned in a one-kelvin temperature difference.

The charge that passes as a flash of light

A charge at rest has a field that no change of frame can turn into light. A charge going past at nearly the speed of light delivers a field that is, for every practical purpose, a pulse of light anyway: thin, perpendicular to the motion, with its electric and magnetic parts equal and crossed. Enrico Fermi saw in 1924 that such a field could be counted as photons, and the Large Hadron Collider now collides lead nuclei's photons with each other.

The heat that turns into matter

Thermodynamics counts particles and relativity lets them be made. Heat a gas to a billion kelvin and its light carries enough energy to create electrons and positrons, which the gas then holds in equilibrium like any other ingredient. The heat spent making them raises neither the temperature nor the pressure, so the gas grows soft — softer, in the cores of the most massive stars, than a star can survive. Those stars collapse, ignite their oxygen all at once and blow themselves entirely apart; and the same pairs, vanishing a few seconds after the Big Bang, left the universe's light hotter than its neutrinos by a factor that is the cube root of eleven over four.

The twin who never turns round

The twin paradox is usually settled by pointing at the turn: the travelling twin is the one who fired the engines and came back, and so the one whose worldline is not straight. Put the twins in a universe whose space closes on itself, like the surface of a cylinder, and the traveller can come home by going straight on. Neither twin ever accelerates, both worldlines are straight, and the traveller still comes back younger. What decides it is not any motion but the shape of space, which picks out one state of motion as special — and hands every observer a way to measure it.

The beam that stops pushing itself apart

A beam of electrons is a crowd of like charges, and a crowd of like charges flies apart. A slow beam does, within centimetres. A fast one hardly does at all: at a gigaelectronvolt the same current travels kilometres before its width doubles. The electric repulsion has not weakened — it has grown, by the factor γ. What has grown faster is a magnetic attraction between parallel currents, which cancels all but 1/γ² of the push. Seen from the beam itself there is no magnetism at all, only Coulomb repulsion acting while the beam's clocks run slow.

The wave an electron rides to a gigaelectronvolt

A laser pulse fired into a thin plasma pushes its electrons aside and leaves them oscillating behind it, a wave of charge travelling at nearly the speed of light. The field in that wave is a thousand times stronger than any metal accelerator can hold, and an electron caught in it at the right moment is carried along like a surfer, gaining a gigaelectronvolt in a few centimetres. Then it outruns the wave. The distance it can ride, and the energy it can gain, are both set by how nearly the wave keeps pace with it — which is to say, by relativity.

The river that sound cannot swim up

Sound travels at a fixed speed through the air or water carrying it, so a flowing medium adds its own speed to the sound's: faster downstream, slower upstream. That is the plainest velocity addition there is. Where the flow speeds up past the speed of sound, upstream-going sound is carried backwards, and nothing made beyond that point can be heard before it. The point is a horizon. Sound cones tip over there exactly as light cones do at a black hole, and the rate at which the flow speeds up plays the part of the surface gravity. A kitchen sink under a running tap makes the reverse kind of horizon, a white hole for ripples.

The contraction the forces work out for themselves

Relativity usually introduces length contraction as a consequence of how moving observers disagree about simultaneity, not as something that happens to matter. There is a second way to reach the same number, and it is worth knowing because it is the way the idea was first found. Take an atom, accelerate its nucleus gently, and compute what the electron does using only Maxwell's field of a moving charge and the law of motion. Nobody tells the orbit to contract, and it does, by exactly 1/γ, while each turn takes exactly γ times as long. The forces holding matter together work out the contraction for themselves.

The heat that arrives before it could

Release a pulse of heat at one point, and the diffusion equation — the law that has described heat flow since Fourier — says the temperature rises everywhere at once, however far away. A thermometer a kilometre off registers a change the instant the heat is released. That is an infinite signal speed, and relativity forbids it. The flaw is harmless for a kettle and fatal for a relativistic fluid. The repair is a relaxation time: heat flow takes a moment to respond to a temperature gradient. With it the equation carries heat at a finite speed, sends a sharp front ahead of the spreading warmth, and turns short-wavelength heat into a damped wave.

The heat hidden in a Doppler shift

An observer who accelerates without stopping sees empty space as warm. The usual derivation takes quantum field theory and several pages. There is a shorter one, and it needs no quanta at all. Watch a single wave of a single frequency from a steadily accelerating rocket: it is redshifted, and because the rocket keeps speeding away, the redshift grows exponentially. Take the spectrum of that fading signal, and it is exactly a Planck spectrum, at a temperature set by the acceleration and nothing else — the same whatever frequency the wave started with. The thermal distribution was hidden in the geometry of the horizon all along.

The light that pulls twice as hard as its mass

Energy has mass, E/c², and a box of light weighs that much more than an empty one. But the gravity something produces is not set by its energy alone. Pressure counts too, three times over, and light's pressure is a third of its energy — so a beam of light pulls on things beside it twice as hard as its mass would suggest. The box weighs only E/c² because its walls, straining to hold the light in, pull with a negative amount that exactly cancels the difference. Two parallel beams of light do not attract each other at all; two opposed ones attract four times as hard. And a substance whose pressure is negative enough does not pull at all — it pushes.

The binary star that would be seen twice

If light thrown forward by a moving source travelled faster, the way a ball thrown from a moving train does, then light from a star swinging towards the Earth in a binary orbit would catch up with light it had sent out earlier. From far enough away the two would arrive together, and the star would be seen in two places at once. Willem de Sitter pointed out in 1913 that nothing of the kind is seen, and that this settles whether the speed of light depends on its source. The argument had a loophole that took half a century to notice — interstellar gas re-emits light at its own speed — and closing it needed X-ray stars.

The sound speed a neutron star needs

Heat any gas without limit and the speed of sound in it climbs towards a ceiling: not the speed of light, but light's speed divided by the square root of three, the sound speed of a gas of massless particles. For decades it was a natural guess that no matter could beat that ceiling, since the densest matter ought to behave like a gas of free quarks. Neutron stars say otherwise. A star of twice the Sun's mass, packed into a ball twenty-five kilometres across, can only be held up if its core is stiffer than the ceiling allows — unless nuclear physics fails at densities where it is believed to hold. Somewhere inside the heaviest neutron stars, sound almost certainly travels faster than it can in any free gas.

The spin that runs ahead of its own motion

A charged particle circling in a magnetic field has two directions that turn: the direction it is moving, and the direction its spin points. If the particle's magnetism were exactly what Dirac's equation first gave — a g-factor of exactly two — the two would turn together at every speed, the spin locked to the motion as a compass needle is locked to a car. The muon's g is not quite two, and its spin creeps ahead by a fixed rate that is the same at a crawl and at 99.94 per cent of the speed of light. That constancy is a delicate cancellation between a magnetic field made stronger by motion and a rotation that exists only because the particle is being turned, and it is what made the most precise measurements of the muon possible — at one magic speed, where the electric fields that steer the particles stop affecting the spin at all.

The magnet period that comes out as an X-ray

A row of permanent magnets alternating every three centimetres, with a beam of six-gigaelectronvolt electrons sent down the middle, shines X-rays with a wavelength of an ångström and a half — two hundred million times shorter than the spacing of the magnets that made them. The factor is γ squared, and the two γ's come from two different frames. In the electron's frame the row of magnets is contracted by γ and rushes past it as a wave; the electron shakes in step and radiates; and that light, sent forward, comes back to the laboratory shortened by another factor of 2γ. Length contraction is half of every X-ray a modern synchrotron makes.

The neutrino energy an angle fixes

A pion breaks into a muon and a neutrino, and the neutrino carries off a fixed 29.8 MeV in the pion's own frame. In the laboratory, straight along the pion's path, it carries a fixed share of whatever energy the pion had, so a beam of pions of every energy makes neutrinos of every energy. Two and a half degrees to one side, something else happens. The neutrino's energy, as a function of the pion's, rises to a maximum and falls again, and around the maximum pions from two to ten GeV all give neutrinos within a tenth of a GeV of each other. An experiment in Japan builds its detector deliberately off the axis of its own beam for that reason — trading most of its neutrinos for the ones at the energy it needs.

The gas law relativity leaves exact

Heat a gas until its particles move at nearly the speed of light and almost everything Maxwell and Boltzmann said about it changes. The speeds pile up just below c instead of spreading out. The energy per particle climbs from three halves of kT to three. The heat capacity doubles, and the ratio of heat capacities falls from five-thirds to four-thirds. One law survives untouched: the pressure is still exactly nkT, at a thousand degrees or a hundred thousand million. The reason it survives is the reason the others change. What heat hands out equally to every way of moving is not energy but momentum times velocity, and for slow particles those happen to differ only by a factor of two.

The gamma ray its own kind cannot absorb

An atom can absorb the light another atom of its kind emits; that is how a sodium flame casts a shadow in sodium light. A nucleus cannot. When it emits a gamma ray it loses the photon's energy as mass, and the photon's momentum kicks it backward, taking a small share of the energy with it; to absorb the same gamma ray, an identical nucleus would need that share added rather than removed. For iron-57's 14.4 keV line the shortfall is nearly a million times the line's own width. In 1958 Rudolf Mössbauer found that a nucleus held in a crystal can hand its recoil to the whole crystal and lose almost nothing — and the resulting line is so sharp that it could weigh the fall of light down a twenty-two metre tower.

The speed that stops while the energy keeps coming

In 1964 William Bertozzi gave electrons energies from half a megaelectronvolt to fifteen, timed them over eight and a half metres, and caught them in an aluminium disc to measure the heat they brought. By Newton the fastest should have crossed in under four nanoseconds, seven times faster than light. They took twenty-eight, and so did the slower ones, more or less. The heat, meanwhile, rose in proportion to the energy put in. The experiment is famous for showing that nothing outruns light, but its sharper result is the second half: the energy did arrive, all of it, carried at very nearly the same speed.

The turns a muon makes at any energy

A muon lives two microseconds, and in a storage ring it lives longer the faster it goes, because its clock runs slow. Its orbit runs slow too: a faster muon carries more momentum, bends less in the same field and takes longer to go round. The two slowings are the same factor of gamma, so they cancel. A muon in a 1.45 tesla ring makes 431 turns in a mean life whether it is moving at nine-tenths of the speed of light or at nine nines, and the only way to more turns is a stronger magnet. The same cancellation is why the first cyclotrons stopped working near twenty million electronvolts.

The rod that is level for only one observer

A metre rod slides at high speed over a metre-wide hole in a thin plate. In the plate's frame the rod is contracted and drops through. In the rod's frame the hole is contracted, the rod is far too long for it, and it drops through anyway — because the instruction 'every point starts to fall now' names a different now for the rod. Its front end starts first, the start runs back along it, and the rod tips into the hole like a spear. Whether a moving thing is level is a question about which events are simultaneous, and so it has an answer only for an observer.

The rocket in which light travels on circles

Inside a rocket that accelerates for ever at a constant rate, a beam of light sent across the cabin sags towards the floor, as Einstein argued it must if acceleration and gravity are indistinguishable. Followed further than any cabin, the sag turns out to be exact geometry: every ray inside the rocket is a perfect semicircle centred on the horizon below, and the rays obey the rules of a non-Euclidean plane in which the angles of a triangle add to less than two right angles. The spacetime in the rocket is flat; the curvature belongs to the clocks.

The spot that outruns light and carries nothing

Flick a laser pointer across the face of the Moon and the spot it makes crosses the Moon faster than light. Nothing is wrong with relativity: the spot is not a thing, and no part of it travels from one side to the other. Each lit point is lit by its own light, sent from the hand. What makes the spot worth studying is how strange such a non-thing is allowed to be. It can be born in the middle of the screen as a pair running apart; its speed can be made infinite, or reversed, merely by watching it from a moving frame; and the composition of velocities that caps everything real has nothing to say about it.

The wheel whose top cannot go twice as fast

The top of a rolling wheel moves at twice the speed of its axle, and the bottom is momentarily at rest — two facts every cyclist's spokes show, blurred at the top and sharp at the bottom. Roll the wheel at a large fraction of the speed of light and the second fact survives exactly while the first cannot: the top moves at 2v/(1 + v²/c²), never as fast as light. Caught at one instant of the ground's time the spokes are bent, and over one turn the wheel advances not the circumference measured from its axle but γ times it — the rim's own length, laid down on the ground by a contact point that does not move.

The kick a fast particle can give an electron

A slow proton crossing matter can give any one electron at most a fifth of a per cent of its energy, because an electron struck head-on by something two thousand times heavier rebounds at no more than twice the heavier one's speed. That rule of thumb fails at relativistic speeds, and fails upward: the electron's speed is capped below light, but its energy is not, and the largest kick grows as the square of the projectile's Lorentz factor until, above a teraelectronvolt, one collision can take more than half of everything a proton carries.

The gyroscope a spinning Earth turns

A moving charge makes a magnetic field, and a spinning charged ball makes a dipole field around it. Gravity has the same structure one level down: a spinning mass drags the local standards of rotation around with it, and a perfect gyroscope near the Earth turns, very slightly, in the pattern of a dipole field — with the Earth's spin over the poles and against it over the equator. Averaged round a polar orbit the turning is 41 milliarcseconds a year. It took forty-four years and a satellite carrying the roundest objects ever made to measure it.

The photon a fast electron throws back

Shine an infrared laser at a beam of gigaelectronvolt electrons and gamma rays come back out of the collision, each carrying seventeen million times the energy of the laser photon it started as. The electron acts as a mirror moving at nearly the speed of light, and a moving mirror multiplies the energy of light by two Doppler factors. Push the electron's energy far enough and the mirror arithmetic promises photons more energetic than the electron itself — and the photon's own momentum, which the mirror ignored, steps in to stop it.

The light that moves an electron and pays it nothing

A pulse of light strong enough to throw an electron forward at a large fraction of the speed of light passes over it, and the electron is left exactly as it was found — at rest, with none of the light's energy — except that it is somewhere else. The reason is two quantities the electron cannot change while a plane wave is passing, and the same two quantities fix the figure eight it traces inside the wave and the angle at which it leaves a real, focused beam carrying the energy it managed to keep.

The lever that is twisted and does not turn

A right-angled lever held still by two equal forces has no net torque on it. Watch the same lever go by at high speed and one arm is shorter, one force is weaker, and the torques no longer cancel — yet the lever goes by without turning. Nothing is wrong with either frame's arithmetic. The forces are doing work on the moving lever, the energy they put in is flowing through its arms, and a flow of energy carries momentum that points across the lever's motion: a body that moves straight with a momentum that does not.

The now a travelling twin can measure

The standard account of the twin paradox has the traveller's sense of “now on Earth” lurch forward by years at the moment of turning round. That lurch belongs to a recipe — borrow the simultaneity of whatever inertial frame the traveller happens to be in — and the recipe is not something the traveller can measure. Timing the home clock by echo, as a radar does, gives a now that the traveller can measure, that never jumps and never crosses itself, and that during the turnaround coincides, surprisingly, with the stay-at-home's own.

The light that takes back an electron's energy

An electron at rest in the most intense laser light ever made feels its own radiation as a force a millionth of the light's push — the textbook reason radiation reaction never matters. Send the electron into the light at nearly the speed of light and the arithmetic turns over. In its own frame the light is stronger by twice its Lorentz factor, the power it radiates grows as the square of that, and a pulse a few tens of femtoseconds long can strip it of most of its energy as gamma rays. That is where the classical theory of a radiating charge, argued over for a century, finally has to answer to experiment — and where it starts to fail for quantum reasons.

The angle a collider counts in logarithms

The two proton beams of the Large Hadron Collider meet head on with equal energies, so the collisions ought to happen at rest in the laboratory. They do not. Each collision is really between two fragments of protons carrying unknown, unequal shares of the momentum, and every one is moving along the beam at a different speed. Particle physicists therefore describe what comes out in a variable that a boost along the beam simply shifts: rapidity, the quantity in which speeds add. A detector cannot measure rapidity directly. It measures an angle, and converts it to a logarithm.

The satellites launched into the wrong orbit

In August 2014 two European navigation satellites were left on the wrong orbit by a frozen fuel line in their rocket's upper stage: an ellipse instead of a circle. For navigation they were nearly useless. For relativity they were a gift. A clock on an elliptical orbit dips deeper into the Earth's gravity and speeds up as it falls, then climbs and slows, and both effects make it lose time near the bottom of the ellipse and gain it back near the top — a wobble of 367 nanoseconds every 12.9 hours, set by the orbit alone. Watching that wobble for three years checked the gravitational slowing of clocks five times more closely than anything had in the forty years before.

The temperature a gas takes from the light around it

A thin, ionised gas bathed in light settles at a temperature that has nothing to do with how much light there is and everything to do with its colour. Every time a photon scatters off an electron, the two exchange a little energy: a photon softer than four times the electrons' thermal energy gains, a harder one loses by recoil. Balanced over a spectrum, the rule sets the gas at a quarter of the light's mean photon energy. That puts gas near a quasar at tens of millions of kelvin, and it caps the heating once photons approach the electron's own rest energy. For blackbody light the rule falls four per cent short, and the shortfall is the photon being a boson.

The mass weighed without one of its pieces

A W boson decays into an electron and a neutrino, and the neutrino leaves every detector without a trace. Its mass cannot be found the usual way, by adding up the energy and momentum of what it decayed into, because half of what it decayed into is missing. What survives is the part of the motion across the beam, where the neutrino's momentum can be inferred from the imbalance it leaves. There the electron's momentum piles up at half the W's mass, and a quantity built from both particles ends at a sharp edge at the full mass. The world's best measurements of that edge disagree by seventy-five parts in eighty thousand.

The throw a uniform field bends into a chain

Throw a stone sideways across the Earth's gravity and it draws a parabola. Throw a charge sideways across a uniform electric field and, at low speed, it does the same. At high speed it draws a different curve, a hyperbolic cosine — the shape of a chain hanging between two posts, stretched — and the reason is that nothing pushes it sideways yet its sideways speed falls. Its sideways momentum is fixed, the field keeps adding energy, and energy is inertia. The charge gets only logarithmically far across the field however long it flies, and its sideways distance turns out to be a reading of its own clock.

The orbit that opens when E reaches cB

A charge in crossed electric and magnetic fields drifts sideways at E/B, looping as it goes, and the textbook leaves it there. The textbook result has a speed in it that can be made larger than light, and something has to give. What gives is the loop. As the electric field approaches c times the magnetic one, the loops swell without limit, and at E = cB the charge stops looping and is carried off for ever. Above that ratio no frame can make the electric field vanish; one can make the magnetic field vanish instead, and in that frame the charge simply runs away. The transition from a bound orbit to a run-away is decided by a single quantity every observer agrees on, E² − c²B².

The universe one explosion makes in empty space

Throw particles out of a single event at every speed below light's and let them coast. Drawn on a spacetime diagram, nothing curves and nothing expands — it is special relativity in an empty box. Yet the particles, slicing their history by their own clocks, find themselves in a universe that is the same everywhere, expanding, obeying an exact Hubble law with no speed limit, and filling a space of constant negative curvature. Edward Milne built a cosmology on this in 1933, and it shows that 'space expanding' and 'galaxies moving' are two slicings of one set of worldlines.

The wave a row of moving clocks leaves on an instant

Line up identical clocks, synchronise them where they stand, and send the whole row past a laboratory at a steady speed. On any one laboratory instant the clocks do not agree: the ones further ahead read less, by an amount that grows steadily along the row. The readings form a wave laid out in space, its crests are the moving row's instants, and they sweep along faster than light. Give each clock the frequency of its rest energy and the wavelength is exactly h/p. De Broglie's matter wave began, in 1923, as an argument about the relativity of simultaneity.

The parabola that decides which way a nucleus decays

A weak decay turns a neutron into a proton or a proton into a neutron and leaves the number of nucleons alone, so it moves a nucleus sideways among its isobars. Whether it can happen, and in which direction, is settled by weighing: a decay goes wherever the atom ends up lighter, by any amount at all, except that emitting a positron needs two electron masses more. Laid out against proton number, the masses of a family of isobars fall on a parabola — or, for an even number of nucleons, on two — and the shape of that parabola is why potassium-40 decays both ways and germanium-76 can only take two steps at once.

The energy above which faster arrives later

In a racing circuit a faster car laps sooner. In a proton synchrotron it does too, at first — and then, past a definite energy, the faster proton laps later. Extra momentum sends a proton round a slightly longer orbit and makes it slightly faster, and relativity decides which wins: at low energy the speed does, but near the speed of light more momentum buys almost no more speed, and the longer road takes over. At the crossing, called transition, a spread of momenta stops producing a spread of arrival times, the bunch stops oscillating in time, and the accelerating wave has to jump from one slope to the other in a few turns. The first machine to try it did so in 1959.

The test of mass and energy that needs a ruler

The most direct test of E = mc² weighed two silicon atoms and measured a gamma ray. A silicon-28 nucleus that captures a slow neutron becomes silicon-29 and loses three ten-thousandths of its mass as gamma rays; weigh both atoms in a trap where they circle a magnetic field, measure the gamma rays by the angle at which a silicon crystal diffracts them, and the two sides agree to four parts in ten million. What the comparison needed is the interesting part: the recoil of the atom, a correction four hundred times larger than the precision, computed from the momentum relativity gives to light; angles of a few hundred picoradians; and a chain of constants tying a frequency and a ruler to the same number.

The flat spectrum a fast pion must paint

A neutral pion falls apart into two photons, each with half its rest energy, in a hundred-million-billionth of a second. Seen in flight, those photons could have any energy between two edges, and every energy in that range is equally likely, whatever the pion's speed. Add up a whole population of pions and something unexpected appears: a peak at exactly the 67.5 MeV that no individual decay shows. Astronomers took it as evidence of where cosmic rays are made.

The partner that sets the price of a pair

Every textbook says it takes 1.02 MeV to make an electron and a positron from light, twice the electron's rest energy. Done in empty space, it cannot be done at any energy at all. Next to a lead nucleus it costs 1.02 MeV. Next to a lone electron, a particle exactly as heavy as the ones being made, it costs 2.04. Nothing about the pair has changed. What changes the price is who has to carry the momentum away.