Long-range order — where it appears
Named by 13 essays across 2 fields — each of them below, with the objects they name alongside it.
Order is not periodicity
For most of a century the two words were used interchangeably, because every known ordered structure repeated. A diffraction pattern measured in 1982 forced them apart, and the definition of a crystal was rewritten.
The smallest quasicrystal
Two tile lengths on a line, in the golden ratio, in a sequence that never repeats. Three completely different constructions produce it, they are required here to agree, and its diffraction needs two integers per peak where a periodic chain needs one.
n plus one, and no fewer
Slide a window along a chain and count what it can show. A periodic chain runs out of new views; an aperiodic one never does; and the fewest an aperiodic chain can manage is one more than the window's length — which is exactly what the Fibonacci chain manages.
Every patch comes back
A chain that never repeats still repeats everything in it. Every block of tiles occurs again, and again, within a bounded multiple of its own length — and how large that multiple is turns out to be a fact about the continued fraction of a slope.
How many patches of each size
A periodic tiling has one kind of neighbourhood however far out you look. Random points have as many kinds as neighbourhoods. A Penrose tiling has a number in between that never stops growing and never catches up — and the count is a measurement rather than a theorem.
How many arrangements one rule allows
Every count in this collection so far has been a count of symmetries, or of orbits under one. Here is a different count: the arrangements a purely local rule permits on a fixed lattice, with no symmetry quotient anywhere in it. The answers are enormous, they are exact, and the useful quantity is not the number but its growth per site.
The arrangements a crystal keeps at absolute zero
Ice has a residual entropy, and the number a calorimeter measures is the logarithm of a count of arrangements. Pauling's one-line estimate of that count is out by two and a half per cent; the exact count in two dimensions is available, falls towards its limit from above, and the whole disorder is invisible to a diffraction experiment, which sees only the average.
Two lattices, one crystal, and no cell at all
A modulated crystal has a lattice and a wave running through it. A composite has neither host nor guest: two interpenetrating substructures with periods that share no common multiple, each modulating the other. Every reflection needs an index from both, and the unit cell a diffractometer reports belongs to whichever half scattered harder.
The threshold a symmetry pins down
Occupy sites at random and somewhere the occupied ones first join up across the crystal. For almost every lattice that occupancy is known only to a few digits. For the triangular lattice it is exactly a half, and the reason is that on a lattice whose faces are all triangles an occupied path and a vacant path cannot slip past each other — a statement about one configuration at a time, with no probability in it.
Every fraction holds a window
Three essays here name the devil's staircase and none computes one. A chain of particles with any convex repulsion has a ground state at every rational density holding an interval of chemical potential to itself — 709 of them computed, the widest taking 19% of the axis and the narrowest two parts in a million million — and the incommensurate densities are what is left over.
An experiment sees a Farey sequence
A devil's staircase has a step at every fraction, and no experiment sees them all. Which ones it sees is not a matter of luck: every step with the same denominator has the same width, so a finite resolution shows every fraction up to one denominator and nothing beyond it — a Farey sequence, whose length is a sum of Euler's totient. How that denominator grows with the resolution is the one thing the interaction decides, and what is left unseen is steps, never an incommensurate phase.
A flapping sheet keeps its peaks in the plane
A warm sheet one atom thick wanders out of its plane far more than within it: a free sheet with only bending stiffness has a mean-square height that grows with its area. That wandering cannot touch a reflection whose scattering vector lies in the plane, which fades exactly as it would if the sheet were held flat. Every reflection with a component along the normal loses its peak faster than any power of the size. Tension puts it back on a power law.
A stack lends each sheet a tension
A single warm sheet wanders so far out of its plane that every reflection with a component along its normal is lost. Stack the sheets and couple each to its neighbours, and inside the stack each sheet wanders only as a sheet under tension does, logarithmically. The stacking reflections survive as peaks that fall as powers of the crystal's size, and the power grows as the square of the order, so the fifth order of the stack computed here has no peak at all. A stack of finitely many sheets keeps even the first only out to a width growing as the square root of its thickness.
Named alongside it
The objects these essays reach for when they reach for this one.
Cut-and-projectDisorderQuasiperiodicEnumerationFactor complexityThe Fibonacci chainIncommensurateLocal rulesModulationSturmianAperiodicityBalance