It explodes, at the speed of plot.

A reader writes:

My name is Adrian and I had a question for you and your fancy calculations:

What would happen if you cut an atomic bomb (or any variant of nuclear bomb) in half with a lightsaber, as that bomb was heading toward the ground? My guess is you would disable the detonator but would probably set off the plastic explosive contained within, yet still not detonating the bomb.

Adrian

This rather depends on what a lightsaber actually is, and what it does. Which is hard to pin down.

Like various other aspects of the Star Wars universe, lightsabers don't really make a lot of sense. The blade apparently weighs nothing but has some air resistance (making a cardboard tube a most effective surrogate!) and, by canon, a strong gyroscopic effect. But that effect is hard to see when, for instance, Luke first twirls his father's lightsaber around in Ben Kenobi's hut. There's a notable absence of precession causing the blade to swing weirdly...

...and cut up Luke, or Ben, or at the very least some of Ben's furniture.

If you need to cut through huge metal doors on a Trade Federation ship it apparently takes a lightsaber a while to do it, but the armour of a seismic tank...

...is rather weaker.

The more you think about this stuff, the less sense it makes. If the damn blade doesn't weigh anything, for instance, why not just do whatever's necessary to make a saber with a really long blade, then point said blade at your enemy, and invite him to impale himself upon it at his leisure? A Jedi asks not these obvious questions, nor does one wonder what the heck people were thinking when they made canonical lightsaber-ish weapons that are clearly more likely to kill the user than their enemy. (See also.)

Oh, and lightsaber blades seem to bind together when they touch, which is what you'd bleeding want to happen when you're fighting with swords that have, in almost all cases, no hand-guard of any kind.

The original lightsaber props had a real gyroscopic effect, because the blade was a spinning stick covered with retroreflective material. You can see and hear one of them in action at the beginning of this blooper reel:

This was originally hoped to provide an adequate lightsaber effect all by itself when illuminated by a light mounted next to the camera lens, for the same reason why retroreflective road signs glow when illuminated by headlights, which are relatively close, angularly, to the eyes of a driver. (If you're on foot and illuminate such a sign with a flashlight held next to your head or, better yet, right between your eyes, the sign will glow surprisingly brightly, on account of the near-perfect angular alignment of the illumination and your eyes.)

The reflective saber effect didn't actually work very well, though, so the sabers were dressed up further in post-production. This left a few telltale signs in the original versions of the early Star Wars movies, especially A New Hope. Before Lucas started "improving" that movie, a saber pointed straight at the camera pretty much disappeared. See also the variable-length, "dual-phase", lightsaber, which was invented to explain why the special effects for Vader's schwartz didn't make it the same length in every shot.

Oh, and lightsabers also tend to be used by telekinetic wizards who can predict the immediate future, so all the arrant Flynning you see lightsaber fighters doing (apparently trying to hit the enemy's sword, not the enemy himself...) is of course entirely explained by... tech tech tech.

Lightsabers seem to be able to cleave through most things instantly (there are several lightsaber-Kryptonite substances in the Star Wars universe to make this less of a problem for storytelling, a la the widely-used sci-fi convention that faster-than-light drives don't work if you're too close to a planet or star, so goodies and baddies can't effortlessly evade each other all the time). The material that was in the kerf of a lightsaber's cut just seems to... disappear. If the blade were actually the stick of ultra-hot plasma that it's meant to be, it'd create a strong wind of superheated air just sitting there stationary making its cool noise, and there'd be a serious explosion whenever you hit anything solid with it, blasting some of that solid into gas at the very least, and possibly more plasma. But nope, doesn't happen. Lightsaber-cut matter just vanishes.

Heck, lightsabers don't even seem to cast any light, a lot of the time. You can see them with your eyes, but no photons from them seem to encounter anything but the audience's eyes. This was of course also a special-effects limitation; the original lightsaber effect was just painting on the film frames, and painting realistic illumination of other objects by the lightsabers was too hard. When it isn't too hard to depict, lightsabers light stuff up just fine.

All of these niggles are, of course, not important. Nobody's pretending Star Wars is even slightly hard sci-fi, so sound in space, and crappy Stormtrooper marksmanship, and ray-guns that shoot beams that travel much slower than bullets, and magic laser swords, are all perfectly acceptable space-opera components. The only time this stuff annoys me is when someone creates yet another of those awful The Science Of Star Wars or Star Trek or Probably Even Bleeding Doctor Who By Now books or TV shows.

[Update: Oh, for fuck's sake...]

The idea always seems to be to trick students who don't like science into learning something, but the result always looks to me like the Lego kits for kids who don't like Lego. This idea is a fundamentally bad one, even if you do manage to wring some actual scientific relevance out of Star Wars, which is about as easy as wringing it out of Jack and the Beanstalk.

If you actually apply something resembling real science to lightsabers, you get a weapon that kills everyone in the building if you ever hit anything with it.

Here's a much more important example of the hopelessness of this The Science Of Some Fantasy Show idea, which arises whenever you try to apply real science to any space-opera scenario that has faster-than-light travel:

If you've got FTL travel, in a universe subject to relativity, you can now also travel into the past.

Absolutely definitely, no question about it. Doesn't matter if you use hyperspace or a warp bubble or teleportation or jump-gates left by ancient aliens. FTL plus relativity equals time travel.

The usual way to get around this is to subject your fictional universe to an Acme Hydraulic Universe-Flattener and explicitly or implicitly erase relativity entirely. You pretty much have to do this to have FTL in the first place, so it's not that much of a loss.

The only other way out is to boldly declare that the same future technology that created the FTL drive also proved Einstein Was Wrong. Saying that, in the face of the large amount of experimental and practical evidence that both general and special relativity are, in our universe, real, is about as plausible as a physicist today saying Newton Was Wrong.

(Newtonian physics is wrong when speeds, mass and/or time values are very large, but relativity refines Newtonian physics, it doesn't overturn it. Space-opera FTL technology can only plausibly overturn relativity with the help of godlike entities, the discovery that we live in a simulated universe with variable rules, or some similarly cheap trick. Otherwise you might as well be saying that new discoveries have revealed that four is prime.)

A significant amount of modern literary space-opera acknowledges the FTL-equals-time-travel problem, but time travel only happens occasionally in shows and movies whose names start with "Star", and it's usually a great surprise to the cast when it does. (And an even greater one, to the characters at least, when they travel from the future back into the same year, and usually the same city, when the show was actually filmed.)

This is all just a teeny bit of a long walk to my answer to "what would happen if you chopped a nuke in half with a lightsaber?", but I hope it explains why my answer is "damned if I know, but the special effects would be good, and the acting lousy".


Psycho Science is a regular feature here. Ask me your science questions, and I'll answer them. Probably.

And then commenters will, I hope, correct at least the most obvious flaws in my answer.

Unexpectedly pretty thing of the day

If you see a welder marking out a piece of metal with what looks like chalk, or a tailor doing the same to cloth, they're likely to not be using standard blackboard chalk.

Plain chalk is calcite, one of the several forms calcium carbonate can take. Welders' and tailors' chalk, on the other hand, is "French chalk", a stick of solid talc, magnesium silicate. Ground up, talc is the base for talcum powder.

This was just another of the pieces of vaguely interlinked data that float around in my mind, until I discovered I could buy ten 125-by-12-by-5mm (about 5 by 0.5 by 0.2 inches) sticks of French chalk, plus a sliding metal holder with a pocket clip, for a grand total of 4.8 Euros including delivery to me here in Australia.

Sticks of French chalk and holder

(As I write this, that's about $US5.90, £3.80, or $AU5.70. Here's the eBay listing, here's the seller's store, here it is on eBay Australia, and here on eBay UK.)

So I had to buy the darn things, of course, in order to hasten the day on which my flattened corpse will be discovered beneath a fallen pile of scientific, electrical, medical and engineering toys and curios.

The talc sticks are unexpectedly beautiful objects. They're very smooth, despite visible sawblade marks on the sides...

Detail of French chalk sticks

...and they have the slippery feel of soapstone. Or, more accurately, soapstone has the slippery feel of talc, because soapstone is a metamorphic talc-schist.

They're moderately fragile, of course, but quite dense, and much harder-wearing than calcite chalk. And I think they've been cut from solid mined blocks of natural talc, because they all have slight marks and veins and other inconsistencies, which become more apparent...

Light shining through French-chalk sticks

...if you shine a light through them.

(The backlight is my possibly-actually-antique flashlight.)

I think there are two reasons why you'd want to use talc rather than calcite for marking out. First, the mark can be more accurate, because although talc is the definitive soft material (scoring one on the Mohs hardness scale), it's actually quite a bit harder and sturdier than a stick of blackboard chalk, and thus won't wear much in the course of one line across metal or cloth. Calcite itself is much harder than talc, but calcite chalk is deliberately made porous and weak; French-chalk sticks are solid and waterproof. A stick of solid non-porous white calcite would rip the paint straight off your blackboard.

The second and probably more important reason to prefer French chalk for marking steel or cloth is that when you draw with a talc stick, you get a line of freshly-created talcum powder. I think this will stick better to a surface than a normal chalk mark, and resist being rubbed or shaken off as you join and cut and otherwise handle your metal or cloth.

(There could be chemical reasons for the choice too, for welders at least. Magnesium silicate is used in some high-temperature pottery glazes, and it's also used as a welding flux, for gas welding at least.)

The ability to precisely draw talcum powder onto a surface could be mechanically useful, too. When I was a kid I used talcum powder to lubricate Technic Lego contraptions, because it doesn't make much of a mess and doesn't attack plastic. Graphite powder, which you can similarly topically apply with a soft pencil or artists' graphite stick, is a better dry lubricant - but it turns everything black and conducts electricity, which may or may not be desirable.

Talc is also a high-temperature electrical insulator. You could easily carve and drill small custom insulators out of French-chalk sticks, or use them unmodified as formers for heating elements or what-have-you.

What I'm actually likely to do with my sticks of talc, of course, is just fiddle with them aimlessly and admire them for their surprising beauty.

I reckon I got value for money, just for that.

They called it "big iron" for a reason

A reader writes:

After reading "Welcome to my museum", I'm now fascinated by the power supply equipment used on early Cray supercomputers. Can you explain more about the Motor-Generator Unit, and where you found the information? There doesn't seem to be much literature about it on the interwebs.

Colin

Cray Motor-Generator Unit

I found out about the extraordinary supporting equipment the Cray-1 needed in the "Cray-1 Computer Systems M Series Site Planning Reference Manual HR-0065", dated April 1983, which you can get in PDF format here.

I think I originally found that manual in the Bitsavers PDF Document Archive, here. They've got a bunch of other old Cray documentation in this directory, including document HR-0031, the manual for the optional Cray-1/X-MP Solid-State Storage Device (SSD).

You could very easily mistake that device for a modern SSD, except for minor details like how it had a maximum capacity of 256 megabytes, and was larger and heavier than some cows. I'm not sure quite how much larger and heavier, though, because that's covered by document HR-0025, which unfortunately doesn't seem to be online anywhere.

(The top-spec 256Mb version of the SSD did have a 1250-megabyte-per-second transfer rate, though, more than double the speed of the fastest PC SSDs as I write this. The Cray SSD's main purpose was apparently to serve as a fast buffer between the supercomputer's main memory and its relatively slow storage. Traditional supercomputers, as I've written before, were always more about I/O bandwidth than sheer computational power.)

The Site Planning Reference Manual is sort of a tour rider for a computer. Van Halen's famous rider had that thing about brown M&Ms in it as a test to see whether people at the venue had read the rider, and were thus aware that they needed to provide not only selected colours of confectionery, but also a strong enough stage and a big enough power supply. I presume the Site Planning Manual has in it somewhere a requirement that there be an orange bunny rabbit painted on one corner of the raised flooring.

(At this point I have to mention Iggy Pop's rider as well, not because it's at all relevant to the current discussion, but because it's very funny.)

I think the deal with the Motor-Generator Unit was that the Cray 1 needed not just enormous amounts of power (over a hundred kilowatts!), but also very stable power. So it ran from a huge electric generator connected directly to a huge electric motor, the motor running from dirty grid power and the generator, in turn, feeding the computer's own multi-voltage PSU. The Cray 1 itself weighed a mere 2.4 tonnes, but all this support stuff added several more tonnes.

(My copy of the HR-0065 manual is over on dansdata.com, hosted by m'verygoodfriends at SecureWebs, who in their continuing laudable attempts to wall off IP ranges corresponding to the cesspits of the Internet occasionally accidentally block traffic from some innocent sources, like an Australian ISP or two. If you can't get the file there, you can of course go to Bitsavers instead, or try this version, via Coral. You can use Coral to browse the whole of Dan's Data if SecureWebs isn't playing ball, though it may be a few hours out of date.)

Further shiny things

Crystalline silicon carbide

This extraordinary object looks as if it came from outer space.

Silicon carbide crystals

It's around 11 centimetres long (4.3 inches). It weighs a bit more than 170 grams (six ounces). Its overall colour is a sort of greenish black. But it's entirely composed of darkly reflective crystalline facets, ranging in size from microscopic to about 8mm (5/16ths of an inch) in length.

Close-up of silicon carbide crystals

On close inspection, the mass of crystals comes in a dark rainbow of different colours; yellows, blues, purples and reds.

Extreme close-up of silicon carbide crystals

Just like solid chromium, this stuff doesn't look real. Like the chromium, it looks more like some sort of movie prop. But my chromium lumps look like rocks spray-painted silver for an Original Series Star Trek episode in which those silver rocks were the most valuable object to appear. This stuff isn't nearly as shiny, but is much flashier, if you get my meaning. It's detailed. It's high-definition. It looks like a prop from a sci-fi movie we won't have the technology to make for another ten years.

You know what it looks like? It looks like black kryptonite, that's what it looks like.

(If you ask me, it looks better than the actual black kryptonite prop from Smallville. I presume you all share my incredulity that it took them until 2004, the 66th year of Superman's existence, to add the seemingly obvious black to the host of other kryptonite colours. Oh, and this Flickr user had the same thought, about what looks to me like the same material.)

Or possibly this stuff is what was left over after Gus Gorman boiled some home-made kryptonite in ammonia and ether and then smoked it.

This mass of black crystals is actually a chunk of crystalline silicon carbide (SiC), which I purchased quite cheaply on eBay (see below. There's video, too!).

This means it must be man-made, because natural, "native", silicon carbide does exist, but it's fantastically rare. It takes a lot of energy to persuade silicon and carbon to form a molecule.

Native silicon carbide is known as "moissanite", and so are simulated diamonds made from high-purity SiC. Far, far more SiC is made for use as an industrial abrasive or super-hard coating for tools, though, and some such process probably made this lump of the stuff.

Silicon carbide is so widely used as an abrasive because its Mohs hardness is as high as 9.5, between corundum (sapphire, ruby, and a component of emery) at 9, and diamond at 10.

Those numbers are misleading, because the Mohs scale is ordinal; it tells you what's harder than what, but not by how much. There are different ways of measuring the hardness of a material - compare and contrast the Knoop, Vickers and Rockwell tests, for instance. Whatever method you use, if you do a relative-hardness test, pretty much everything looks sick compared with diamond.

Assign a relative-hardness score of 10 to diamond and, depending on what test you use, corundum may score as high as 2.63 or as low as 2.2, and silicon carbide may score as high as 4.63 or as low as 2.5. For further comparison, quartz, generally regarded as a pretty hard material, scores down around one, if diamond is 10.

(In view of this, the fact that humans are now finally more-or-less managing to make exotic materials that are actually harder than diamond is quite amazing. The most widely used new super-hard material is diamond-like carbon, which as the name suggests isn't actually "better" than diamond, and two of the other candidates are actually just novel forms of diamond. Only minuscule amounts of the best non-diamond candidate have been made to date - with some debate over whether any of it has actually been made at all. But one way or another, we're doing it, and the achievement is a lot more impressive than a mere Mohs hardness of "11" would suggest.)

I don't know exactly how my lump of SiC was made, but I suspect it was an unwanted byproduct of some industrial process, perhaps one or another kind of vapour deposition. The carbide is meant to coat drills or saws or something, but it deposits elsewhere on the equipment too. When some lucky duck gets to clean out the machinery, stuff like this crystal mass ends up in their bucket.

Most industrial waste is not particularly decorative, but every now and then, something extraordinary comes along.

I also don't know how pure this carbide is. High-purity silicon carbide can be black, just like this material, but there may be various impurities in there too.

The surface is definitely not pure SiC; the rainbow reflections are created by a very thin layer of silicon dioxide on the surface. This interacts with light in the same way as various other super-thin coatings, like the surface of anodised titanium, the "rainbow of temper" on steel, or a soap bubble, for that matter.

Silicon carbide is very hard, but rather brittle. If you buy a chunk mail order like I did, you're going to get a few broken-off crumbs in the box along with the main piece, unless the seller packed the carbide in thick cotton wool. And if they did pack it in cotton wool, you're going to spend forever picking cotton shreds off the pointy crystals. Just hitting the thing with a blowtorch might be a faster solution. Or it might heat-shatter.

You don't really have to treat SiC like the egg of a tiny bird, though. When I deliberately broke off a little crystal stuck to the main mass by a couple of millimetres of hair-thin filament, I was surprised to see the filament bend a good five degrees before it snapped. And tiny crumbs coming off even a small SiC lump won't make any obvious difference to its appearance.

One thing you probably don't need to worry about your silicon carbide doing is melting. The melting point of pure silicon carbide is 2730°C, 3003K, or 4946°F in the old money. So you may be able to melt it with an oxy-acetylene torch; the theoretical perfect-combustion temperature for that is around 3500°C. Oxy-hydrogen might manage it, too. MAPP-gas and oxygen probably won't cut it, though, and no cheap butane torch will come within a hundred miles.

Silicon carbide was the material used for the very first light-emitting diode, way back in 1907, though this discovery was largely ignored at the time. That could be why nobody managed to make an LED bright enough to be useful for anything until the Sixties. Henry Round's original discovery was still scientifically important, though, and I swear I managed to get a tiny spot of my chunk of SiC to light up under a pin connected to minus 12 volts. But once I set my camera up, it refused to do it again, no matter what I poked with the pin or where I attached the positive cable's alligator clip.

I think having an alligator clip as the positive terminal, rather than for instance sitting your SiC chunk on aluminium foil that's connected to positive, is important - you need pressure on the SiC to get a decent contact, and the positive connector needs to be close to the point you're poking with the negative pin, or the semiconducting SiC won't let any current flow. With the clip close to the pin (less than a centimetre), something above 20 volts always persuades my SiC to allow current to flow, but that doesn't give the LED effect, just little blue sparks. You're looking for something greenish-yellow, as in this Wikipedia picture:

Silicon carbide LED effect

(The picture is from this page, which contains further instructions on how to try this experiment yourself. And then there's this dude, whose carbide lump seems happy to light up all over, damn his eyes.)

Trying, and failing, to make my own carbide-LED picture was quite frustrating. I can see why people in the early days of radio were so happy when they could buy machine-made vacuum-tube diodes so they didn't have to fool around with super-fine wires and lumps of galena any more, poking around all over the crystal like a tiny pirate seeking one buried treasure chest on the whole island of Barbados.

Aaaaanyway, you may be pleased to know that I am now finally going to tell you where I got this stuff, and what it costs.

Getting some

I bought a little chunk of crystalline silicon carbide on eBay a few years ago, from this seller, but they don't have any SiC for sale at the moment. This new bigger chunk was another eBay purchase, for $US28.17 including delivery to me here in Australia, from this seller (who's here on eBay Australia, here on eBay Canada, and here on eBay UK).

As I write this, they've got one more lump of the stuff, closer to spherical than mine and weighing 210 grams.

The inimitable Theodore Gray has a chunk of this stuff too; he bought it on eBay as well, but from a seller who called it "native bismuth". Dark SiC crystals resemble bismuth hopper crystals (see here) in colour, but that's as far as the resemblance goes.

(Theo also has this different-looking SiC sample, which was also sold as bismuth. And then there are these high-purity crystals, transparent green with no oxide layer. Oh, and on the subject, if you get a solid block of carbide but your plutonium hasn't arrived yet, you can pass the time with some microwave metal melting!)

Nobody on eBay seems to be selling silicon-carbide "bismuth" at the moment; there's plenty of "native bismuth" crystals that're obviously actually purified bismuth crystallised by the standard stovetop method, but at least those actually are bismuth, so by eBay fake-minerals standards no great crime is being committed.

And now: Twinkling!

Behold, the silicon carbide lump, and the chromium, and a couple of large oval-cut cubic zirconias ("CZs") into the bargain. They all look impressive in sunlight.

(These videos don't have sound. Feel free to add your own vocal "ting" sound effects to synchronise with the reflections and refractions.)

The smaller CZ is, at about 36 by 29 by 22 millimetres (1.4 by 1.1 by 0.9 inches), comfortably in the Crown Jewels size range. If it were a diamond, it'd be around 155 carats (as a CZ, it's 255 carats - CZ is about 1.6 to 1.7 times as dense as diamond). This is a bit less than the original cut of the Koh-i-Noor, but about 1.5 times the Koh-i-Noor's current size.

The larger CZ is about 52 by 38 by 28 millimetres (2 by 1.5 by 1.1 inches), and weighs 132.5 grams; a diamond the same size would be about 400 carats, far larger than any of the world's famous colourless diamonds, and a little less than the total weight of all of the multicoloured diamonds in the two "Aurora" displays.

I bought both CZs in 2009 from this eBay seller; the smaller one cost me $US19.95 delivered, and the bigger one was $US37.95.

That seller doesn't seem to have a lot of huge CZs on offer today, but if you use the always-entertaining "highest price first" sorting option but set a price ceiling at, say, $100, then in among the eBay listings for bags containing many small CZs, there are plenty of monster white and coloured stones.

(Here's that search on eBay Australia; it's here on eBay UK, and here on eBay Canada. I strongly recommend you buy at least a pocketful of small CZs; they make novel presents, and you can also wrap them in black felt, go to a cafe with a friend, wait for people to look, and then make everyone think some serious state secrets are being sold.)

"MY COM-PO-NENTS ARE FUL-LY COM-PAT-I-BLE WITH LE-GO!"

Among the greatest of the problems facing modern humanity is, I scarcely need say, the fact that there is no satisfactory way to make a Lego Dalek.

Well, not a little one, anyway.

Large Lego Dalek
Source: Flickr user Oblong

This fellow is quite magnificent, but...

Large Lego Dalek
Source: Flickr user lloydi

...I think something in excess of half-scale.

This smaller one's not bad either...

Medium-sized Lego Dalek
Source: Flickr user Neil Crosby

...(you'd want it to be good, since it's at Legoland), but the approximations are already creeping in.

Get just a little smaller and you're reduced to something like this...

Small Lego Dalek
Source: Flickr user pasukaru76

...of which the most one can say is that it's identifiable as a Dalek, if you squint.

If you want a Dalek roughly to scale with Lego minifigs, you're reduced to something more like...

Small Lego Dalek
Source: Flickr user Kaptain Kobold

...this.

I don't care how many of those you've got...

Small Lego Daleks
Source: Flickr user LostCarPark

...they're just silly.

Although I do give Kaptain Kobold credit for this one.

Lego Dalek and Lego Katy Manning
Source: Flickr user Kaptain Kobold

(Safe for work. NOT safe for work.)

These...

Small Lego Daleks
Source: Flickr user LostCarPark

...are silly too.

Small Lego Daleks
Source: Flickr user jjackowski

Nope.

Tiny Lego Dalek
Source: Flickr user pasukaru76

And this is a nice bit of microscale minimalism, but still not what you'd call faithful to the source material.

But, gentle reader, there is a solution. Though it carries a price - a price you may adjudge too high.

If you want a minifig-scale Dalek that actually looks like a Dalek, you can have it. All you must do is... I fear even to say it... is buy off-brand Lego.

Character Building Lego-compatible Daleks

I feel so dirty.

But just look at these little buggers.

Character Building Lego-compatible Daleks

Daleks! Made out of Lego-compatible blocks! Properly built up out of pieces, too, not just single-piece lumps!

Each Dalek breaks down into six major pieces and three minor ones. The baseplate, the skirt, the sucker-and-gun section, the shoulders, the neck and the head are all separate and about as Lego-compatible as it's possible for them to be, given their shape. The minor parts are the sucker, gun and eyestalk, all of which fit in holes too small for any other Lego piece or sub-component I can think of right now. The three minor pieces all have to point straight out, not swivel, but the head turns. (So do the shoulder and neck pieces, but not the sucker-and-gun section, which was never able to turn on-screen either, until 2005.)

Thanks to all of those pieces, if you want to make a Special Weapons or Emperor Dalek, it's no problem. The skirts also, of course, provide the perfect plinth for the Lego Davros torso of your choice.

(You can also just stick the head piece on top of a minifig's head and get something that doesn't really look like, but is no more ridiculous than, those preposterous helmets worn by the Daleks' human underlings in Resurrection of the Daleks.)

These not-actually-Lego Daleks are made by Character Options, who make various other licensed action figures and playsets and such. (All eleven Doctors? Fifty quid as action figures, twenty quid as pseudo-Lego.) Their "Character Building" brand has a variety of Lego-compatible Doctor Who sets, mostly just minifig-scale Doctors and companions and monsters. I bought the "Dalek Army Builder Pack", which gives you five red Daleks and nothing else. There are yellow and white Daleks in other sets, and Character Building also has one of those gashapon deals going where you can spend two pounds on a minifig from, thus far, two series, but not know what one you're going to get. You can get a blue Dalek that way if fortune favours you; any other colours, you're thus far going to have to paint yourself.

(You're also going to have to break out the paint if you want the Dalek bumps on the skirts to be a different colour from the skirts. In this scale the bumps are only about four millimetres in diameter, so it's not surprising that Character Options, um, opted, to leave them the same colour as the skirt.)

The Character Options sites lists the Army Builder Pack for £9.99, which is around $16 Australian or US, as I write this. I got mine on eBay for only £10.70 including delivery to Australia from this UK seller (here on eBay US, here on eBay Australia), but they don't have any more for sale as I write this.

There are plenty of other eBay sellers who do have stock, though; this search ought to find them all. The cheapest ones are all selling one individual Dalek parted out from a kit; the cheapest Army Builder set as I write this is £7.99 plus postage. There are plenty of sellers on Amazon, too.

The Character Building Daleks do have one flaw, though, which may be even more of a problem than the fake-Lego problem:

They look a little like Teletubby Daleks.

The Teletubby, a.k.a. Power Ranger, Daleks are the ones last seen on TV in 2010's Victory of the Daleks, when the Doctor was, for once, conclusively outmaneuvered by his enemy, and tricked into reincarnating these purestrain "New Dalek Paradigm" monsters.

(And, incidentally, there were also Spitfires in space.)

I thought Victory was a good episode (and quite funny, which counts for a lot), except for some industrial-grade schmaltz involving an android. But the new colour-coded Daleks at the end, each with their own more or less peculiar name, were not well received by the fans. Especially the... really enthusiastic fans.

The New Paradigm Daleks are big and shiny and brightly coloured, and have a great hunchbacked extension on the rear of their bodies, which gave me the impression that the props had for some reason been designed to have two human operators inside. I'm sure that isn't actually the case - these were Daleks in 2010, not Jabba the Hutt in 1983 - but there the huge lump is, or at least was.

Perhaps the Teletubbies are never coming back. Perhaps they're coming back but along with the older kinds. Who knows. (Free plot idea: The new ones are fat because they are pregnant with a much better design of Dalek.)

Anyway, these little Lego-ish ones do look a bit like them. But they're clearly not the same. The hump is less pronounced, the head isn't positioned way forward on the shoulders, the weapon-and-sucker section doesn't bulge out from almost vertical sides, and they've got that odd zipper-like grille thing on the back, but who cares.

I don't think they quite match any Dalek that's ever been seen on screen, but the Dalek props have, over the years, also failed to match each other in various ways, even if you've managed to erase the Peter Cushing Dalekmania movies and their Daleks armed with fire extinguishers from your mind.

(The New Paradigm Daleks stand significantly taller than the old ones, too; the Character Building ones are about a head taller than a standard minifig with no hat on, but are I think about the same height as the Character Building pseudo-minifigs.)

So if your interest in the racial purity of Daleks is only exceeded by their own, then you may consider these ones unacceptable. But they're really not very Teletubby-ish.

And, c'mon. Lego-compatible Dalek parts!

Haven't you always wanted the Doctor and a companion to be desperately hiding as the sound, tic-tic-tic-tic-tic-tic-tic, of robotic spider-legs approaches, and stops, and then a spray of baleful blue eye-lights spotlight them and the Mark V Travel Machine rears up, twenty feet high, dozens of its blackly shining sense globes irising open to extrude claws and tentacles and saws and injectors and suction feeders and flensers and écraseurs and deglovers, even as its battery of far-too-merciful gunsticks retract, and in a voice that breaks windows it SHRIEKS-

...well, actually these things probably won't greatly help you make that.

But if you let your kid at 'em, imagination ought to fill the gaps.

Very very shiny rocks

I couldn't really tell you which is my favourite item in my little element collection, but these recent additions certainly catch the eye.

Chromium lumps

(They're not actually all that recent, but I forgot to write about them until now.)

These are lumps of chromium. Solid chromium.

UPDATE: As requested in the comments below, here are a couple of little (silent) video clips of the chromium lumps in the sun, plus a chunk of crystalline silicon carbide and a couple of enormous cubic zirconias:

As undisputed king of the element-collecting hobby Theo Gray points out, chromium is commonplace in the modern world, but only in ultra-thin electroplated layers on other substances. There's no need to use more than a super-thin layer of chrome to make some car-part shiny, because chromium in air protects itself from corrosion with a hyper-thin oxide layer, sort of like aluminium, but more so. The chrome oxide layer, unlike the aluminium layer, is so thin that you can't even see it, so chrome looks freshly-polished all the time.

Chromium lump close-up

This stuff is actually so shiny that it looks fake, like rocks spray-painted silver and given an outlandish name in an episode of Star Trek. It feels more real when you pick it up, though, because chromium is only a little less dense than iron. It's also nonmagnetic, and non-toxic.

Various chromium salts are bad news and can be made accidentally in the home, by for instance using a stainless-steel object as the sacrificial anode for electrolytic de-rusting. But the metal itself is benign.

This is more than can be said for what's next to the chrome on my display shelf, the block of Wood's metal I cast in a Lego mould. Wood's metal has both lead and the more dangerous cadmium in it.

(See also, mercury. Metallic mercury is not good for you, but there's no reason to call out the men in moon suits just because you broke a fluorescent light. Organic mercury compounds, however, are very dangerous. Methylmercury, which can get into your body via contaminated fish, is rather nasty, and dimethylmercury is absolutely pure unadulterated gold-medal-winning death on a stick.)

I got my chromium, and a few other trinkets over the years, from eBay seller "The Mists of Avalon" (on eBay Australia, on eBay UK). From their name, you'd expect them sell a lot of metaphysical wank - and yes, they do! But right next to their "Wiccan/new age/spiritual/pagan" and "Healing/metaphysical crystals" categories, though, they've got umpteen science collectibles, and the listings for those items don't even contain the traditional fanciful explanations of the supposed effects of the periodic-table sample you're considering buying on chakras and meridians.

At the moment, Mists of Avalon seem to be the only eBay dealer selling these nice rock-shaped chromium lumps. They've got one listing for chunks not unlike mine, and another listing for "more than 10" bags of smaller lumps. (They've also got a listing for some chromium powder, but you probably don't care about that.)

There are a few other eBay dealers selling chromium, and other element, samples of one kind or another (on eBay Australia, on eBay UK). There's SoCal Nevada, for instance; I've bought a few sciency knick-knacks from them, too. They currently have one tiny crystal of chromium, and a couple of big machined disks of the stuff.

Theo Gray's pals RGB Research will be pleased to sell you a hefty cylinder of high-purity chromium, of the same standardised 35 by 55mm size as the tungsten and magnesium ones I've got (they don't have any of the big tungsten cylinders for sale at the moment, though) for the trifling sum of $US325 plus delivery.

EBay seller iannhart (on eBay Australia, on eBay UK) has a selection of 35-by-55mm cylinders too (including some tungsten ones!), as well as other shapes and sizes of chromium.

I'd hold out for the rock-shaped lumps, though; they really show off the bizarre nature of this substance. Tungsten doesn't look like much; its special characteristic is its extraordinary density, making it a plausible stand-in for plutonium.

Chromium is more like frozen latinum.

Clang!

A reader writes:

Following on from your tweet yesterday, and this awesome dude you also tweeted about, I've been watching a lot of more or less realistic sword fights on YouTube.

Something occurred to me, though. If you're armored all over, including gauntlets, how can you hold a sword?

Wouldn't covering your whole hand with metal make it really easy for the sword to just slip out, or twist so you're whacking people instead of cutting them? How did/does that work?

Juan

Gauntlets were, and are, not steel gloves. They cover the back of the hand and wrist, which is the part your enemy can actually hit, not the gripping surface on the inside. Sturdy gloves were usually standard equipment too; they went along with all of the other padding and covering that went under and over your armour, to help soak up the shock of impacts and stop your mail from ripping your nipples off.

There were many kinds of armour gauntlets, some of which probably had plates and/or mail permanently attached to a glove. And there may actually have been full-coverage metal gauntlets, for some reason, too; many odd kinds of armour have been made, and many of the most impressive pieces were for display or ceremonial purposes, and so didn't need to be practical.

(Whenever you start talking about this stuff you tend to end up with a giant comments-thread argument among a bunch of people who know an awful lot about historical weaponry, or think they do because they've read a lot of Dungeons and Dragons sourcebooks.)

But, in general, gauntlet armour was for the backs of the hands.

Today, most things called "gauntlets" are whole tough gloves - motorcycle gauntlets, welding gauntlets, et cetera. They'd probably work well as undergloves for armour.

(The abovementioned Nikolas Lloyd's site has a page about armour he's made, but he's only done mail and hoplite armour. But on the mail page he uses the term "preventing over-much beflapment", and that should be good enough for anyone.)

Tiny computer or huge PDA: $25!

Alphasmart Dana

The Alphasmart Dana, which I've written about in the past, is about ten years old now. But it's still quite a brilliant little machine.

Alphasmart are in the portable-word-processor business. Every portable word processor back to the legendary portable TRS-80 has looked much the same; full-size keyboard, letterbox-slot monochrome LCD screen, and power usually from AA batteries, which last a startlingly long time.

Alphasmart Dana diagram

Most of these things run some sort of proprietary operating system and only have a few built-in programs that you can't change. The Dana is different, though, because it's actually a Palm III with a keyboard and a wide touchscreen. The screen is only 160 pixels high, like those old Palms, but it's 560 pixels wide. (It also has the standard Palm green electroluminescent backlight, which works well enough but eats batteries.)

Anything that'll run on a Palm III (or IIIx) will run on a Dana, but only specially tweaked programs will use anything but the 160-by-160 middle of the screen. The built-in word processor does, of course, use the whole screen, and makes a dandy note-taker.

Alphasmart made a Dana with Wi-Fi, but mine is the version that lacks it; it has IrDA, though, for what little that's worth. Transferring text to a normal computer really couldn't be easier, though. You can save files to an SD card and plug that into a PC reader, but all you actually need to do to shift plain text is plug the Dana into a computer via USB, whereupon it reports itself as a USB keyboard (like that footswitch thing). Then just make sure you're in some text-edity sort of program on the computer, and press the Dana's "Send" button, and it'll "type" out the contents of your document. No special software needed.

The "typing" isn't terribly fast, so this isn't very practical for transferring a large document. But for everyday note-taking and journalism and such, it's great.

[Update: If you've got a Dana but no software for it, I mirrored a few files, including the stock software bundle.]

Oh, and the Dana also charges through the USB cable. Danas come from the factory with a plugpack charger as well, but if you're often near a normal computer you won't need one. (Note that the Dana won't charge from a power-only USB socket, like you get on those gizmoes that convert mains power or a car cigarette-lighter socket into USB power.)

I was moved to write this post by three things. One, the Dana deserves to be more widely known. Two, there are currently quite a lot of affordable Danas on eBay, as we'll see in a moment. And three, I am avaricious. I'm signed up for eBay's Partner Network now, and so can get a few pennies when people click on my links to said Danas.

Here's an eBay search that finds, as I write this, fifteen Dana auctions, some of which have several units available. (The search is supposed to "geotarget" to international eBay sites, but doesn't seem to be doing it for me here in Australia, so here's the same search on eBay Australia, here on eBay Canada, here on eBay UK.)

This seller is probably the one you want. They currently have two multi-item Dana auctions running. This one has six units, without batteries or a stylus, for only $US19.99 each; international shipping would more than double this, but it's still a bargain. And this auction is for "more than 10" Danas, this time with a stylus but still without batteries, for only $US24.99 each. Presuming these Danas do actually work, you really can't go wrong for that price.

The lack of a battery is a bit of a nuisance. When new, you see, the Dana came with a rechargeable battery pack which sits in the AA-cell battery bay but connects with a little two-pin plug, not the contacts on either end of the battery bay. These used Danas don't come with that battery pack (because it's no doubt long since worn out), so the easiest way to power them is with three alkaline AA batteries.

You can run a Dana from rechargeable AAs as well, but it won't charge them if they're not connected like the original battery was. And, just as with the Palm III, taking the batteries out of a Dana for more than 30 seconds will cause the internal memory to go blank. (This isn't actually a big deal unless you've installed your own applications or saved stuff in the internal memory, as opposed to an SD card.)

I made a new battery pack for my Dana by soldering up three low-self-discharge NiMH AAs, and stuffing them into the battery bay. My three AAs with soldered-on tabs connecting them together are bit longer than the original battery, and wouldn't fit in the bay, so I did a bit of butchering that has made my Dana unable to run from normal AAs any more. (There is a better way I could have done this.)

But my Dana does charge via USB, which, I repeat, is really neat. As is just about everything else about this thing. And if you don't want to monkey around with battery-pack building, you can just chuck some alkalines in it and go.

(If you'd like to know more about the Dana, you can download the PDF manual from Alphasmart here.)