Heat engines — the series
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The ceiling on every engine, set before it was designed
There is a maximum efficiency no heat engine can exceed, and it depends on nothing but two temperatures. Not the fuel, not the working substance, not the cleverness of the engineer.
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The engine that pays back more than it takes
Carnot's argument puts a ceiling on how much work a flow of heat can be made to do. Run the same cycle backwards and the ceiling inverts into a floor that is greater than one — so a machine can deliver three or four joules of heat for every joule it consumes, and a perfectly efficient electric heater is the worst way to warm a room.
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The engine that has to finish
Carnot's ceiling is exact and it is reached only by an engine that takes for ever, because a reversible heat flow needs a vanishing temperature difference to drive it. Ask instead for the most power rather than the most work per joule of heat, and the answer is a different function of the same two temperatures — and three measured power stations sit on it rather than on the ceiling.
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The engine a fluctuation cannot run
A ratchet lets a shaft turn one way and not the other. Put a paddle in a gas on the same shaft and molecular collisions appear to become a lifted weight — an engine running on one reservoir. It does not work, and following exactly why turns the second law from a prohibition into a mechanism: the pawl is as warm as the gas, and it lifts whenever it is asked to.
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The temperature an engine really takes its heat at
Carnot's ceiling is set by two temperatures, and no engine that burns fuel takes its heat in at one temperature or gives it out at another. It takes heat over a range, from the moment combustion starts to the moment it ends. For any reversible cycle there is an exact replacement for Carnot's two numbers: the average temperature at which heat arrives and the average at which it leaves, each weighted by the entropy the heat carries. The gap between a real cycle and Carnot is a gap between those averages and the extremes.
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The work left in two buckets of water
Carnot's ceiling assumes reservoirs so large that taking heat from one and giving it to the other changes neither temperature. Two buckets of water are not reservoirs. Run the best possible engine between a hot one and a cold one and both temperatures move, the efficiency available shrinks as they do, and the engine stops when they meet — at the geometric mean of the starting temperatures, not the ordinary one. The work it delivered is exactly the difference between those two meeting points, and it is far less than the starting temperatures promise.
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A fridge with no work going into it
Every engine here so far turns heat into work or work into a heat flow. A machine exchanging heat with three reservoirs and doing no work at all can still move heat from cold to hot, and the ceiling on how much is the product of two Carnot expressions — an engine's efficiency times a fridge's coefficient of performance. A gas flame makes ice, and the accounting is one inequality in three entropy flows.
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An engine with one number in it
A thermoelectric couple has no moving part and no working fluid, and its efficiency is the Carnot value multiplied by a factor containing exactly one dimensionless group of material properties. Sixty years of effort have moved that group from about one to about two, and the reason it is hard is that its three ingredients are not independent: raising the conductivity ruins the coefficient it is squared against, and the only lever that is really free is the heat the lattice carries.
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The cold reservoir overhead
On a clear, still night a car roof can grow frost while the air around it is several degrees above freezing. Nothing in the air is cold enough to freeze water. The roof is radiating its heat upward to a sky whose radiation back is that of something twenty degrees colder than the air — part of it the cold upper atmosphere, part of it space itself, seen through a window in the infrared where the air is transparent. The clear sky is a cold reservoir available everywhere, and it can be used: to make frost, to cool buildings below the air temperature even in sunshine, and in principle to run an engine at night.
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The squeeze a petrol engine is not allowed
Every textbook gives a petrol engine's ideal efficiency as one minus the compression ratio raised to a small negative power, and every reader can see that the efficiency keeps climbing as the ratio rises. Real petrol engines stop near ten or eleven. Nothing in the thermodynamics stops them. The fuel does: the charge being compressed is already fuel and air, and the burning gas behind the flame squeezes the rest until it ignites on its own, in a hammer-blow that wrecks pistons. An octane number buys nothing but time against that, and a diesel escapes it by compressing air and adding the fuel only when it wants ignition.
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The engine that expands further than it compresses
A petrol engine's efficiency is usually quoted as a function of its compression ratio, and its compression ratio is held near ten because a higher one makes the fuel detonate. But the efficiency does not come from the compression. It comes from the expansion — from how far the burned gas is allowed to push the piston before it is thrown away — and an ordinary engine expands its gas exactly as far as it compressed it, simply because the same cylinder does both. Let the gas expand further than it was compressed and most of what a higher compression ratio would have given comes back with no knock at all. The price is paid in power, and it is why the most efficient petrol engines on the road are built this way.
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The cylinder that must not be cooled
The first steam engines that did useful work, Thomas Newcomen's pumps of 1712, made a vacuum by spraying cold water into a cylinder full of steam. It worked, and on every stroke it cooled the cylinder, so that the next charge of steam condensed on the cold iron until the walls were hot again — several cylinders' worth of steam spent heating metal that the next spray would cool. James Watt saw in 1765 that the vessel was being asked to be hot and cold at once, and moved the cold to a separate condenser. The improvement was a factor of three or four in coal. A century later the reason had a name: heat passing from hot to cold across a large difference, doing nothing on the way, is work thrown away.