Hitching a ride on a black hole, part I

We have been talking about white holes and black holes and how one cannot exist without the other (or at least white without black). But let us return to the slow and familiar world of Sir Isaac Newton for the moment.

Suppose you have a massive star ship. Maybe one carved from an asteroid or even a planetoid. To protect the crew from the dangers of the outer space. And it has plenty of material for propulsion, assuming some day the rocks and metals can be used as fuel and/or propellant.

Now, once in flight at a 1 g acceleration the crew inside would feel the normal Earth’s gravity. However, someone on the surface of the ship would feel either heavier or lighter, depending on where exactly they are standing. On the bow of the ship the asteroid’s gravity would add to the ship’s acceleration, while on the stern the apparent gravity would be less than the ship’s acceleration by the same amount. Just take care to not get too close to the engines and exhaust. Imagine how powerful and probably hot they must be to accelerate something like a Death Star at 1g.

Now, the surface gravity of an asteroid is pretty small. Even on the largest known one in the solar system, Ceres, it is not even 1/30 of that on Earth, so it would not significantly affect the apparent gravity on the ship. But if the asteroid was made of a denser material (and be correspondingly smaller for the same mass), its gravity would be stronger. Same mass in half as much radius means four times as much gravity, etc.

This would present an opportunity. Suppose we want to accelerate to the cruising velocity faster than just at 1g. Instead of subjecting the crew to strong g-forces for an extended period of time, we could relocate them toward the stern of the ship, where the ship’s own gravity would counteract the g-forces. Unfortunately, no known material is dense enough to provide 1g worth of surface gravity in a relatively small object. So, unless we want to just take a whole Earth-sized planet, our hope of counteracting the effects of acceleration are in vain. Plus, any self-respecting planet keeps itself in shape thanks to its own gravity. It would quickly rearrange its shape or even fall apart if we were to do something as violent to it as accelerating beyond the gentlest nudge.

But wait, not all is lost! Why think small? We know of a few of celestial objects which are dense enough and durable enough to withstand a bit of rough handling. Alas, none lend themselves easily to carving a star ship out of. But let’s see where this leads us. One such dense object is a white dwarf, a remnant of a sun-like star. Its surface gravity is some millions of g, so an extra g required to accelerate it would hardly make a dent. Literally. Of course, there is the small matter of making the white dwarf into a rocket engine, but let’s suppose we solved this minor problem and the cooling star corpse is made to emit its guts in the right direction at something close to the light speed to provide acceleration.

Now, our crew cannot, of course, make their quarters inside or on the surface of the dying star, it is still way too hot, Sun’s surface hot. It is also as massive as the Sun. So our initial plan to ride an asteroid has been inflated somewhat. Still, size-wise a white dwarf it is relatively small compared to a “real” star, it is only maybe Earth-sized. So we need to keep our distance, or radiation and gravity will do us in.

Before we do some calculations regarding the practicality of star-riding, let’s look at other options. One object even denser than a white dwarf is a neutron star. They are only slightly heavier than white dwarfs, but much denser and smaller (a city-size, rather than a planet-size) and so emit a lot less radiation in total, even though they are hotter. Also, turning one into a rocket could be somewhat problematic, given how strongly it is gravitationally bound. On the other hand, pulsars manage to fling a lot of energetic matter and radiation into space, so maybe the task of rocketizing a neutron star is not as impossible as it looks at the first glance.

The last option for high-acceleration star riding is, of course, the object dear to my heart, the amazing black and white hole combo. Black holes are roughly as massive as the other two super-dense objects, only smaller, maybe a dozen city blocks in size. And black holes usually do not emit anything, so that is both convenient and annoying. On one hand, you don’t need to block the potentially harmful radiation from the star, on the other hand you cannot harness this radiation as a source of energy. On the third hand, if our project involves milking stars for fuel, the scale of the energy sources required to do that is probably rather larger than what solar batteries can provide.

So, we are back to black holes, bye-bye Newton, hello Einstein. So, how the heck would we extract energy from a black hole, let alone shape it as radiation emitted in a specific direction as exhaust? Well, the actual mechanism is a bit fuzzy, just like it is for white dwarfs and neutron stars, but the god news is that, just like Tsiolkovsky was the first one (well, not really first, but hey, it’s Stigler’s world out there) who figured out the rocket equation for the non-relativistic propulsion, one William Kinnersley did that for relativistic one, at least when the propellant is massless. This is known as the Kinnersley photon rocket. And it just so happens that it describes the last case we discussed, at least to some extent: light, or something like light is emitted from a black/white hole preferentially in one direction, accelerating the hole in the opposite direction.

Now it is almost time for some basic calculations. But first let’s review what we have figured out so far. We wanted to use starship’s natural gravity to reduce the effects of g-forces on the crew and quickly realized that the ship would have to be very dense for this to work. And, as far as we know, dense means heavy, Sun-mass heavy. So we’d have to turn a star into a star-ship, literally. And this means we have to keep our crew a ways out, behind the star-ship, surfing its wake. Maybe it should be called star-surfing? Things we still need to figure out are manifold, but here are some of them, in no particular order:

  • How far behind the star-ship is the sweet spot for the crew?
  • How large and stable is that sweet spot?
  • How fast can we accelerate and how far can we travel until the star-ship is all used up?
  • The twin paradox and all, how much will the crew age during a round trip, compared to those left behind?
  • Is it even ethical to kill stars for fuel, even if they are already [almost] dead?

To be continued…


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