Field

Exoplanets

Planets nobody has seen, weighed and measured from a dip, a wobble and a delay.

A light curve with a fold in it

A single lens magnifies smoothly. A second mass makes the lens mapping fold, and a fold has an edge — a curve across which two images appear out of nothing and the magnification formally diverges. Crossing it turns the finite size of the source star from a nuisance into a ruler.

A planet measured by the light it removes

A transit gives a depth, and the depth is a ratio of two radii rather than a size. Everything a transit says about a planet is said in units of a star nobody has visited either.

Four contact points, and what they fix

The depth of a transit gives a radius ratio. The shape gives the impact parameter, and then — through nothing but Kepler's third law — the mean density of the star being crossed.

The star moves, and the mass is a lower bound

A planet is found by watching its star fall towards it. The wobble gives a mass multiplied by the sine of an angle nobody has measured — and the shortfall is not a rounding error.

Mass against radius, and what lies between the curves. Planetary radius against mass on logarithmic axes, in Earth units, with composition curves computed from interior models rather than drawn through the points. The solid-planet curves are R ∝ M^(1/3.7) — flatter than a constant density because a heavier planet compresses itself — and the hydrogen curve turns over near three Jupiter masses, where degeneracy pressure takes over and adding mass makes the planet smaller. A mass alone or a radius alone places a planet on a line; only both together place it between two curves, and that is the whole argument for measuring a planet twice.

Two methods, and one density

A transit gives a radius. A wobble gives a mass. Neither says what a planet is made of, and the two together say it in one number — which is the only reason both are worth doing on the same object.

A planet that was the star's own rotation

A dark spot rotating across a star removes light from the approaching limb and then the receding one, and the line centroid moves. That is several metres a second at the rotation period, from no planet at all — and two of the most celebrated nearby planets were withdrawn on exactly this evidence.

A star magnified by a planet nobody will see again

Microlensing weighs a planet by the way its gravity bends light around it. The measurement lasts a few hours, cannot be repeated, and is the only one that does not require the planet's star to be visible at all.

$Contrast against separation, which is where direct imaging lives. Planet-to-star brightness ratio against apparent separation, both logarithmic, for a system 10 parsecs away. The reflected-light curves are A_g(R_p/a)² and fall as the inverse square of the orbit; the thermal curve is the ratio of two Planck functions at 10 µm and does not, which is why every imaged planet so far is young and hot rather than merely large. The vertical lines are diffraction limits λ/D — nothing inside a telescope's own line is reachable by it at any contrast at all. An Earth at ten parsecs sits at 6.3e-10, which is 4 orders of magnitude below the faintest planet yet imaged. The four imaged planets are plotted at their measured near-infrared contrasts rather than at 10 µm, because the near infrared is the band they were found in — which is itself part of the argument, since a young planet is hot enough to be bright where its star is not.$

Nine orders of magnitude, half an arcsecond apart

Photographing a planet is not a resolution problem. It is a contrast problem, and the contrast is set by an inverse square that punishes exactly the planets a telescope can most easily separate.

$What each method can see. Planet mass against orbital distance, both logarithmic, with the detection threshold of each method drawn as the boundary it actually is. Radial velocity at 1 m/s needs mass rising as √a; astrometry at 20 µas needs it falling as 1/a, which is the only method that gets easier further out; a 100 ppm transit is a threshold on radius and so a horizontal line at about 1.4 Earth masses, cut off at 1.21 AU by the need for three transits in 4 years; direct imaging begins outside the diffraction limit, 0.6 AU at 10 parsecs for a 39 m aperture at 10 µm. The solar system is drawn on top: for two decades every one of its planets except Jupiter lay outside every region, which is the whole of what the early census was measuring.$

Every survey draws a different sky

The first exoplanets found were enormous and impossibly close to their stars. That was not a discovery about planets. It was a measurement of what a 10 m/s spectrograph watching for three years is able to see.

The planets that were not seen

An occurrence rate is a count divided by a probability, and the probability can be a five-hundredth. Everything difficult about saying how common planets are lives in that denominator.

A gap in a histogram that says how planets are built

Between the super-Earths and the sub-Neptunes there is a radius at which planets are markedly rarer. The gap is not a gap in what can be detected, and its slope with orbital period names the process that made it.

A transit that will not keep time. Transit times of a planet of 8 Earth masses on a 3-day orbit, minus the best straight line through them, from a three-body integration in which the second planet at 4.62 days is the only thing perturbing it. The residual swings by ±1.7 minutes and repeats over 58 days — the super-period 1/|3/P₂ − 2/P₁|, which is long precisely because the pair is near the 3:2 resonance and gets longer the nearer it is. The amplitude is proportional to the perturbing planet's mass, so fitting this curve weighs a planet that may never transit at all. The short jagged component is not noise: it is the chopping signal, one kick per conjunction at the 8.6-day synodic period, sampled once every 3 days by the transits themselves and so barely above the rate at which it can be followed. The integration conserved energy to 1.6e-10.

Planets found by a transit running late

A planet on a fixed orbit transits like a clock. A second planet pulling on it makes the clock run fast and slow by minutes — and fitting that wander weighs a planet that may never cross the star at all.

A planet where one cannot form

A Jupiter at four days orbits inside a region that was too hot to hold ice and too small to hold the material. It did not form there — and the distribution of eccentricities says which of two journeys brought it in.

Libration and circulation of a resonant angle. The critical angle of a resonance over time, integrated from the pendulum equation it obeys. Below the separatrix the angle oscillates about a fixed value — the body is locked; above it, the angle runs without bound and the body is not.

A chain that could not have been assembled in place

Seven planets whose successive period ratios are all close to small whole numbers. Capture into a resonance requires the orbits to converge slowly, and converging slowly is something planets can only do in a disc.

A radius that depends on the colour it is measured in

Measure a transit in one colour and then another, and the planet is a different size. The difference is a few atmospheric scale heights, which is a few hundred parts per million of an already tiny signal.

One number sets the zone

The habitable zone is a band of stellar flux, so it scales as the square root of luminosity and moves inward far faster than mass falls. For most stars it lies inside the radius at which a planet is tidally locked.

One whole orbit. The system's total brightness through one orbit: the transit at phase 0, the slow rise and fall of the planet's illuminated hemisphere between, and the secondary eclipse at phase 0.5 where the planet's own light is removed. The transit is 1.05%; the secondary eclipse is 1800 ppm, about 6 times shallower.

The planet is seen when it disappears

Half an orbit after the transit the planet passes behind its star, and the light that vanishes is the planet's own. Subtracting two brightnesses taken hours apart isolates a body nothing has ever resolved.

$A 27.5 m/s velocity the star does not have. Left: a rotating stellar disc, approaching on one side and receding on the other, with the chord a planet of 0.1 stellar radii takes across it at impact parameter 0.5 and a sky-projected obliquity of 0°. Right: the apparent radial velocity that results, computed by covering the disc cell by cell — the flux hidden at each phase and its mean line-of-sight velocity — rather than from a fitted formula. The star's centre of mass does not move at any point in this: the anomaly is entirely a statement about which parts of the line profile are missing. Its amplitude is 27.5 m/s at v sin i = 4.5 km/s, and the two numbers are related by the depth of the transit, since blocking a fraction f of light of mean velocity v shifts a flux-weighted centroid by f·v. The curve is antisymmetric about mid-transit to 0.00% of its own amplitude, which is what an aligned transit gives: equal time on the blue half and the red. Limb darkening is included at u = 0.6, and it matters: it weights the hidden light towards the centre of the disc, where the rotation velocity is smallest.$

A velocity measured from a shape

A transiting planet hides part of a rotating disc, so the star's line profile loses a slice at one velocity and its fitted centroid moves. The star has not moved at all — and the lopsidedness of that motion is the whole measurement of whether the orbit lies in the star's own equatorial plane.

A planet that is never confirmed, only validated

A background eclipsing binary diluted by the target's light reproduces a planetary transit depth exactly, and no amount of better photometry separates the two. Most known planets are therefore the output of a probability calculation rather than a detection, and the honest statement about them is a statement about a false-positive rate.

Pluto and Triton sit on the nitrogen line, and the Earth sits between helium and nitrogen. Escape speed against exospheric temperature, with a criterion line for each molecular species at v_esc = 6 v_th — the speed at which the Jeans loss time is comparable to the age of the solar system. Every line has slope one half, because the thermal speed goes as √T; a body above a line keeps that gas and a body below it does not. The horizontal axis is the temperature at the exobase, which for the Earth is near 1000 K rather than the 255 K of its equilibrium — the difference is extreme-ultraviolet heating, and using the wrong temperature puts the Earth above the hydrogen line, keeping an atmosphere it observably lost. Three readings are worth making. The Earth falls between helium and nitrogen and does exactly that: it loses helium as fast as radioactive decay supplies it, and keeps nitrogen for ever. Titan sits just above nitrogen and just above methane, which is why it has a thick nitrogen atmosphere and is slowly losing its methane. And Pluto and Triton sit on the nitrogen line, within 1 per cent — which is why both have atmospheres that are marginally bound and measurably escaping. Where it fails it fails in one direction only. Mercury, the Moon and the Galilean satellites all plot above lines for gases they do not have, because retention is necessary and not sufficient: a body also needs a source, and needs to survive the non-thermal losses this criterion says nothing about. Venus is the sharpest case — it sits above the hydrogen line and has still lost an ocean, because that hydrogen left by charge exchange with the solar wind rather than by moving fast enough.

The gas a planet cannot keep

Escape is a statement about the tail of a distribution rather than about its mean, so the threshold is not a speed but a dimensionless number near thirty — and past that number the loss rate falls by twelve orders of magnitude. Then, for a hot Jupiter, the whole picture fails and the atmosphere leaves as a wind.

The part of a rate that is a definition

Published values for the frequency of Earth-size planets in habitable zones span two per cent to sixty. The spread is not measurement error — it is where the box was drawn, on a surface that is steepest exactly at the corner every author has to choose, and outside the last detection.

The line beyond which ice counts as rock

A disc of gas around a young star gets colder outwards, and at about a hundred and seventy kelvin water stops being vapour and becomes a building material. Crossing that one line multiplies the solid mass available by roughly three and a half, in a single step, and the architecture of every planetary system is downstream of it.

$The same wind strips a mini-Neptune inside 0.06 au and leaves a hot Jupiter intact. The fraction of a planet's hydrogen envelope removed in 5 billion years by an energy-limited wind, against orbital distance, at a heating efficiency of 0.15 and an extreme-ultraviolet fluence integrated over the star's own history — saturated at L_XUV/L_bol = 3.2·10⁻⁴ for the first 100 million years and declining as t to the power −1.23 after, which comes to 4.9·10¹⁵ J m⁻² at one astronomical unit and is some 7 times what today's flux would give over the same span. This is a different mechanism from the tail of a Maxwellian, not a correction to it. Close to a star the upper atmosphere absorbs more extreme ultraviolet than it can radiate away, expands, and flows off as a wind whose rate is set by the energy arriving — Ṁ = ηπR³F/GM — so the exponential in the Jeans parameter vanishes entirely and what remains is a ratio of radius cubed to mass, which is one over the density. That is why the three curves are ordered as they are. The hot Jupiter is dense enough to lose 0.0087 of itself even at 0.047 au, where HD 209458 b sits and where its escaping hydrogen makes a transit fifteen per cent deep in Lyman α against one and a half per cent in the optical — an exosphere filling and overflowing the Roche lobe, and still costing the planet almost nothing. The mini-Neptune loses its whole envelope anywhere inside 0.06 au, and what is left when it does is a bare core about 1.5 Earth radii across. That is one of the two standard accounts of the gap in the radius histogram, and this figure is what it looks like before any of the observations are brought in.$

A planet ten times larger in one colour

A hot Neptune that blocks one and a half per cent of its star's light in the optical blocks fifteen per cent of it in the ultraviolet line of hydrogen. No bound atmosphere can be that large — the material is well outside the planet's Roche lobe — so the observation is not a measurement of an atmosphere but of one leaving.

Capture is a direction, not a strength

A resonance holds a body that drifts into it from one side and lets go of one that drifts out the other way, and the asymmetry is not about how strong the resonance is. It is the sign of a derivative — whether the trapped region is growing or shrinking — which is why a chain of planets in resonance is direct evidence that they migrated toward each other.

An edge where two torques balance, 21 kilometres from the shepherd. Two torques on the edge of a ring, against distance from a shepherding moon, both axes logarithmic and both scaled by the same combination of surface density, radius and orbital rate so that only their shapes are being compared. The flat line is the viscous torque, which comes from collisions between ring particles and does not care how far away anything is; it is drawn for a kinematic viscosity of 12 square centimetres a second, within the range ring seismology gives. The falling line is the moon's, summed over the first-order resonances that crowd together as the gap narrows, which makes it an inverse cube. A flat curve and an inverse cube cross once, and the crossing is where an edge can sit: closer in the moon wins and pushes the material back, further out viscosity wins and the ring spreads. For Daphnis and the Keeler gap the balance lands 20.8 kilometres out against a measured half-width of 21, which is agreement to well inside the uncertainty on the viscosity — and it is the only handle anybody has on that viscosity, since the quantity being inferred is the collision rate among particles a metre across, a billion kilometres away.

A torque that nearly cancels

A planet embedded in a gas disc pulls on the material inside its orbit and outside it, and the two torques are almost equal and opposite. What survives the subtraction is a per cent of either, and it is still enough to carry a planet from where it formed to its star in less time than the disc lasts.

$One mass and one radius, and every composition that gives them. A planet of 5 Earth masses and 1.6 Earth radii, and the compositions consistent with it. The horizontal axis is the fraction of the planet's mass in an iron core and the vertical axis the fraction in a water layer outside the rock; the heavy curve is every pair that reproduces the measurement exactly, and the band around it is what the 0.05 Earth-radius uncertainty allows. The answer is a curve, not a point, and that is not a failure of precision. Two numbers cannot determine three components: a planet can be made denser by adding iron or lighter by adding water, and along this locus the two changes cancel exactly. The ends of it are not small variations on one planet. At the left is a body with no iron at all and 0 per cent of its mass in water; at the right, one with an iron core like Mercury's and 23 per cent water. Those have different formation histories, different interiors, different everything, and the same mass and radius to the precision anybody can measure them. Breaking the degeneracy needs an observation that is neither a mass nor a radius. The usual one is a transmission spectrum, which measures the atmosphere's scale height and so its mean molecular weight — a hydrogen envelope and a steam envelope differ by a factor of nine in that, and the corresponding factor in the size of the spectral features. What the picture assumes is that the planet is differentiated into clean layers, which is the standard assumption and is false in detail: water dissolves into silicate melt at these pressures, and a mixed interior sits at neither end of this curve.$

One density, and every planet that has it

A mass and a radius are two numbers, and a differentiated planet has at least three components. The set of compositions matching a measurement is therefore a curve rather than a point — and its two ends are a body with no iron and half its mass in water, and a body with a Mercury-like core.

The inflation threshold at 2·10⁵ W m⁻², and the 0.69 R_J above it. Radius against the starlight received, for a population of Jupiter-mass planets. The horizontal line is what a structural model gives for a cold, old, Jupiter-mass ball of hydrogen and helium: 1.06 Jupiter radii, and it hardly depends on mass at all in this range, because degeneracy is beginning to set in and the mass–radius relation is flattening toward its turnover. Planets receiving less than about 2·10⁵ watts per square metre sit on that line, with a median of 1.06, which is the control the rest of the figure depends on: the models are not wrong in general. Above the threshold the radii climb, reaching a median of 1.75 — half again the size a cold planet of the same mass can be — and the onset is sharp enough to be called a threshold rather than a trend. Starlight by itself will not do this. Irradiation is absorbed high in the atmosphere and re-emitted from there; it slows the escape of heat from below, which delays contraction, but it cannot deposit energy beneath the radiative–convective boundary, and it is the interior entropy that sets the radius. So the excess is evidence for a mechanism that carries roughly half a per cent of the incident flux down to pressures of tens of bars — ohmic dissipation of currents driven through a partly ionised atmosphere, breaking gravity waves, and tidally forced turbulence are the candidates, and the threshold is the number each of them has to reproduce. The points are a synthetic population from a seeded generator, not a catalogue; what is real is the threshold, the size of the excess, and the fact that the un-irradiated planets sit exactly where they should.

A radius no cold planet is allowed

A Jupiter-mass ball of hydrogen has a maximum size, and it is about 1.06 Jupiter radii however old or young it is. Hundreds of hot Jupiters are half again that, and the excess switches on sharply above a threshold in the starlight they receive — which means something is putting energy in deep.

A misalignment only cool stars forget

A third of hot Jupiters orbit at a large angle to their star's equator, and some go round backwards. Sort the same planets by the temperature of their host and the picture changes — below about 6,250 kelvin almost all are aligned, and above it almost none are. The boundary is not about the planets.

The shield that does not shield. Above: measured ion escape rates for three planets against their surface magnetic field. Venus and Mars have no dynamo at all and Earth has one, and the three rates lie within a factor of 9 — with the magnetised planet losing the most. The intuition that a magnetosphere protects an atmosphere is not a small correction away from being right; the measurement does not support it. Below: why. A dipole's field lines are not all closed. Those emerging within a polar cap reconnect with the wind's own field and lead straight to space, and the cap's area is set by how far the magnetosphere reaches — a boundary at ten planetary radii still leaves 5.1 per cent of the surface open. So a magnetosphere is both a shield and a funnel: it deflects the wind from most of the planet and collects ions from the whole ionosphere into the polar wind, which is exactly what an instrument above the poles measures leaving. Whether the net is protection depends on quantities nobody can compute from the field strength alone, and the three points above are the state of the evidence.

The shield that is also a funnel

A magnetic field is supposed to protect an atmosphere from the stellar wind. Venus and Mars have no dynamo and Earth has one, and their measured ion escape rates lie within a factor of a few — with the magnetised planet losing the most, because a dipole's polar field lines are open and lead straight to space.

A duration that measures an eccentricity

A transit's length is a measurement of how fast the planet was moving when it crossed, and that speed depends on where it was on its orbit. For a circular orbit the duration gives the star's density; for an eccentric one it gives the density times a factor of up to four — and if the density is known independently, the factor is the eccentricity.

A planet radius is a stellar radius

A transit measures a ratio and nothing else. Every planet radius ever published is that ratio multiplied by a stellar radius that came from somewhere entirely different, so a population of planets inherits the errors of a population of stars — and when the stars were measured better, a feature nobody could see became unmistakable.

$A planet that subtracts 73 per cent of itself at the inner working angle. The fraction of a planet's flux that survives an angular differential imaging subtraction, against its separation from the star in resolution elements, for a sequence covering 25 degrees of field rotation. The reference image is built from the target's own frames, so a planet that has not moved far between them is present in the reference and is removed along with the speckles. How far it moves is the arc length, which is proportional to the separation — so the self-subtraction is severe close in and negligible far out, and the half-throughput point is at 2.1 resolution elements here. The consequence for any contrast curve is that it is a statement about an algorithm as well as about an instrument: the depth reached has to be measured by injecting fake planets into the data and recovering them, because no calculation predicts what fraction of a real one survives.$

A star subtracted using the star

Imaging a planet means removing a halo of scattered starlight a hundred million times brighter than the planet, and no model of that halo is good enough to subtract. So it is built from the star's own exposures — and since the planet is in those exposures too, it subtracts part of itself.

Three planets that are the same spectrum. A model transmission spectrum, in scale heights of apparent radius, drawn three times: once as it is, once with the reference radius raised by 0.45 scale heights and the abundance reduced to compensate, and once with a cloud deck truncating the features. The three differ by 0.21 scale heights root-mean-square against features of 2.1, which is well inside the error bars of any real observation. The reason is structural rather than observational: a transmission spectrum measures a difference in apparent radius with wavelength and never an absolute radius, so the level is a free parameter, and shifting the level trades against the abundance almost exactly. Adding a cloud deck adds a third parameter that flattens features and trades against both. Three unknowns and one curve is why the quoted abundance uncertainties from transmission spectroscopy are so much larger than the photometric precision suggests.

A spectrum flattened by cloud, or by nothing

A transmission spectrum measures how a planet's apparent radius changes with wavelength, and never the radius itself. That missing level is a free parameter, it trades almost exactly against the abundance of whatever is absorbing, and a cloud deck adds a third unknown to a curve that constrains two.

A shadow crossing a rotating line

A transiting planet hides a strip of a rotating star, and that strip has a definite velocity. So the planet removes light from one place in the line profile and leaves a bump there — a bump that travels across the line as the transit proceeds, tracing the path the planet took across the disc.

The band moves and the orbit does not

A star brightens as it burns, so the distance at which water can be liquid sweeps outwards by a factor of one and a half across a main sequence. The band a survey quotes is an instant; the band a planet needs is the overlap of every instant, and for the Sun it is a tenth as wide and does not contain the Earth.

$Three perturbing masses drawing one curve. Transit-timing residuals for three systems whose perturbing planets are 12, 8, 5 Earth masses — a factor of 2.4 apart — each given the inner-planet eccentricity that the near-resonant theory says will compensate: 0.0000, 0.0166, 0.0363. The three curves have amplitudes of 1.7, 1.7, 1.7 minutes, within 0 per cent of each other, and they are drawn by three separate integrations that were told nothing about the theory used to pick the eccentricities. The eccentricity enters the near-resonant term divided by Δ, the fractional distance from exact resonance — here 0.0267 — so a hundredth of an eccentricity does the work of a factor of two in mass. This is why a transit-timing mass is not a mass until something else fixes the eccentricity, and why the masses that came out of the first years of such fits were systematically lower than the radial-velocity masses of the same planets.$

A mass that is only a mass once the eccentricity is known

The near-resonant part of a transit-timing signal carries the perturber's mass and the pair's free eccentricity in the same bracket, divided by the distance from resonance. A hundredth of an eccentricity therefore does the work of a factor of two in mass, and three quite different systems draw one curve.

A light curve pulled out of shape by the Earth's own orbit. Magnification against time for a 90-day event at impact parameter 0.3, computed with the observer's orbital motion included at three values of the microlens parallax. The dashed curve is π_E = 0 and is exactly symmetric in time, because a straight-line track past a point lens has to be. The others are not. The Earth's displacement over the months the event lasts adds a term π_E times its projected orbital motion to the lens–source trajectory, so one wing is pushed closer to the lens and the other further away, and the curve acquires an asymmetry of 16 per cent at π_E = 0.15 and 34 per cent at π_E = 0.35. That asymmetry is the whole measurement. An ordinary event gives one dimensioned number, t_E, which mixes the lens mass with two distances and a proper motion and therefore weighs nothing; the parallax gives a second, and two constraints on the same lens are what a mass requires. It is only available on long events — the Earth has to move appreciably while the magnification is changing — which is why parallaxes are measured for the timescales above about fifty days and not for the short ones that a low-mass lens produces.

An asymmetry that the Earth's own orbit puts in

A microlensing event delivers one number with dimensions, and one is not enough to weigh anything. The Earth's motion over a long event distorts the light curve, and the distortion is the second constraint — after which the mass follows with no distance in it at all.

A centroid that moves when the brightness does not

The two images a lens makes are never resolved, but their centre of light is displaced from where the source would be — by an amount that is largest at a separation where the magnification is only 1.34, long after the photometric event is over.

An event of a few hours and no host

The Einstein crossing time is the square root of the lens mass and nothing else changes, so a free-floating Earth produces exactly the light curve a star does, at exactly the same height, and is over in ninety minutes. What decides whether it is found is cadence rather than sensitivity.

Two systems that draw the same curve

A binary lens with separation s and one with separation 1/s have central caustics that agree to first order in the mass ratio. The same event is therefore a planet at four astronomical units or one at less than one, and no amount of photometric precision decides between them.

The envelope that doubles a planet lasts longest

The gap in the radii of small planets is not merely a place where planets are rare — it is nearly empty, and the reason is a peak. The time a young star needs to strip a planet's hydrogen is longest for the envelope that swells the planet to a little over twice its core's size. Anything thinner runs away to nothing, and anything thicker settles back towards the peak.

The stripping runs ahead of the starlight that drives it

If young stars carve the radius valley with their X-ray light, the valley should be finished early — half of it before the star has delivered a third of that light, and nine tenths of it within a few hundred million years. If the planets' own cooling cores carve it instead, planets should still be crossing it billions of years later. The two accounts put the valley in the same place, and they are separated by the one thing a histogram cannot show — when.

A smaller star puts the valley lower

Round stars of half the Sun's mass, the gap between bare rocky cores and sub-Neptunes should sit at a smaller radius than round the Sun, because at the same orbital period their planets receive a tenth of the light. Their stars also stay young and active far longer, which pushes the other way. Photoevaporation weighs those two against each other in a definite proportion, and the answer is a valley that scales as the star's mass to about the power three tenths.

The XUV energy that reached one astronomical unit, for three young Suns. The cumulative X-ray and extreme-ultraviolet energy delivered per square metre at the Earth's distance from the Sun, against age, for three histories that differ only in how long the young Sun stayed magnetically saturated: 20 Myr for a slow rotator, 100 Myr for a medium rotator, 300 Myr for a fast rotator. After saturation each declines to a common track by 1 Gyr, as rotation histories are observed to converge. By 4.5 Gyr the totals are 2.06·10¹⁵ J/m² for the slow rotator, 3.66·10¹⁵ J/m² for the medium rotator, 6.47·10¹⁵ J/m² for the fast rotator: the fast rotator delivered 3.1 times as much as the slow rotator, nearly all of it in the first few hundred million years. The Sun's own rotation at that age is not measured; it is inferred from the spread of rotation periods in young clusters, and all three histories are consistent with a Sun that ends up rotating as it does now.

The young Sun's spin decides what the Earth kept

The calculation that strips sub-Neptunes applies just as well to a planet with a trace of hydrogen. An Earth that captured a few hundredths of a per cent of its mass from the gas it formed in — several times the hydrogen now in its oceans — would have lost all of it, or kept most of it, depending on something nobody has measured — how fast the Sun was spinning in its first few hundred million years.

An ephemeris fitted to 120 days, 43 minutes wrong within a year against a band of ±5.1. Transit times of a 6 Earth-mass planet on a 10-day orbit, perturbed by a 14 Earth-mass planet at 15.24 days, integrated for 1460 days and compared with a straight-line ephemeris fitted only to the transits in the first 120 days — the shaded window. Inside the window the line fits to 2.1 minutes. Outside it the pair's 317-day super-period carries the transits away from the line, and within a year of the window closing the prediction is 42.8 minutes early of the observed transit, 347 days after the last fitted one. The narrow band is the formal three-sigma uncertainty of the same line for a timing precision of 0.5 minutes per transit, which at that date is ±5.1 minutes: the error is 8.4 times the band. A statistical uncertainty assumes the residuals are noise, and these are a signal, so the band describes a planet that does not exist.

A forecast that fails on a schedule

A transiting planet perturbed near a resonance keeps a clock that wanders, and a straight-line ephemeris fitted to part of the wander predicts the next transit with a confidence the wander does not deserve. The error is not noise and does not average down; it grows on the pair's super-period, it is many times the formal uncertainty within a year, and how soon it appears depends on which stretch of the wander happened to be observed. When a model that includes the known perturber still fails, the failure has a period, and the period is a planet.

A transit late by the width of an orbit

A transiting planet's clock can run fast and slow for a reason that has nothing to do with gravity acting on the planet. If its star is itself in orbit about a distant companion, each transit's light has further or less far to travel, and the timing wanders by the light-travel time across the star's orbit. It is the measurement that first showed light has a speed, made again on a different kind of clock.

One timing curve and five planets that could draw it

A transiting planet whose times wander at a 58-day period, by just over a minute, is being pulled by something — but the period says only how far from some resonance the pull comes, not from which. Perturbers inside and outside the orbit, near four different commensurabilities, each with its own mass, reproduce the same curve to a fraction of a per cent. Timing alone returns a list, and even the detail that shortens it hides a coincidence of its own.

A companion on the same orbit, seen in the planet's clock

A body sharing a planet's orbit at one of its Lagrange points has the planet's period exactly, so no search for periodic dips or wobbles can find it at a period of its own. It shows instead in two ways the planet's own signals carry — a slow swing of the transit times at the companion's libration period, and a fixed offset between the planet's transit and its star's velocity curve.

$The solid mass available, as a staircase of 5 fronts. The share of the condensable material that is solid, against distance from a 1 solar-mass star, on a logarithmic radius axis. Each riser is one species freezing out, at the radius where the disc's temperature — falling as the inverse square root of the distance — reaches that species' condensation point. silicates and iron at 1400 K and 0.04 AU; water ice at 170 K and 2.71 AU; carbon dioxide at 70 K and 16.00 AU; methane and ammonia at 30 K and 87.11 AU; carbon monoxide at 20 K and 196.00 AU. Inside every front the solid surface density is 22 per cent of what is available, which is the refractories alone; water alone contributes 53 per cent, more than twice everything else combined, which is why one of these steps is called the snow line and the others are not. A body's composition is decided by which pair of risers it formed between, and the steps are narrow because a vapour pressure is exponential in the inverse temperature.$

There is not one line, there is a staircase

Water freezing is the biggest step in a protoplanetary disc and it is one of five. Each condensable species has its own temperature and therefore its own radius, and what a body is made of is decided not by which side of a line it formed on but by which pair of risers it formed between.

A composition that dates a formation rather than placing it

The ice line in a young disc starts six astronomical units out and sweeps inward to under three as the disc drains. A body at four astronomical units therefore formed dry or wet depending only on when — so what it is made of is a clock, and reading it as a map is the mistake the moving line makes easy.

Two elements in a ratio, and a birthplace read off it

Carbon and oxygen freeze out at different places, so the gas between the fronts is carbon-rich and the solids are oxygen-rich. A giant planet is made mostly of gas it accreted, so measuring the ratio in its atmosphere and inverting the staircase should give the radius it formed at — and the inversion turns out not to be unique.

$What comes back is a ramp, not a threshold. Detection efficiency against signal-to-noise: the fraction of synthetic transits injected into real photometry that the pipeline afterwards finds. The measured curve is a gamma cumulative distribution of shape 4.65 and scale 0.98 beginning at 4.1, which is the form a survey's own injection tests are fitted with; the dashed line is the step at 7.1 that a threshold calculation assumes instead. Half the injections are recovered at 8.33, 1.2 units above the nominal threshold — the ramp is a property of the search and the cut is a separate decision, so the two need not meet anywhere in particular. The rest of the disagreement is the area between the curves. The pipeline does not reach 99 per cent efficiency until 14.9, four units above the threshold, and it recovers 45 per cent one unit above it. Over a population whose signal-to-noise falls as s^-2 — which is what a planet population looks like, because there are far more small planets than large ones — the step function counts 1.21 times as many detections as the ramp does. That factor is not an error bar. It multiplies every occurrence rate computed without it, and it is larger for the small planets than for the large ones, because the small ones live where the ramp is.$

The threshold that is not a threshold

A survey's detection limit is quoted as a number — seven point one — and a pipeline does not behave that way. Half the injected signals come back at the threshold, and full efficiency arrives four units above it.

Every method prefers a circle, and not for the same reason

A transit is more likely on an eccentric orbit and shorter when it happens, and the two very nearly cancel. A velocity curve loses amplitude to harmonics no sinusoidal search is looking at, and that one does not cancel at all.

$How many planets a star has is the hardest thing a catalogue measures. The multiplicity distribution a transit catalogue would contain, for systems that all truly hold 5 planets, at four mutual inclination dispersions. 40,000 systems are drawn per dispersion with an isotropic viewing direction and Rayleigh-distributed inclinations about a common plane, at semi-major axes of 12, 16, 21, 27, 34 stellar radii; the bars are conditioned on at least one planet transiting, which is what makes a system appear in a catalogue at all. At 0.5° of dispersion 33 per cent of the detected systems show all 5 planets and the mean apparent multiplicity is 3.13; at 10° it is 1.39, with 68 per cent of them showing exactly one. Every one of those systems has 5 planets. The entire difference between a catalogue of singles and a catalogue of compact multiples is one number that nothing in the light curve measures. And the two effects run in opposite directions: the fraction of stars showing any planet RISES with the dispersion — 8%, 9%, 12%, 19% across the four — because scattering the orbits gives more of them a chance to cross the line of sight, while the number seen per detected star falls by a factor of 2.2. A survey that scatters its systems finds more stars with planets and fewer planets per star, and neither number on its own says which has happened. What no figure here can show is the true dispersion, because the observable is the ratio of those two and a system with fewer planets and a tighter plane reproduces it exactly.$

How many planets a star has is not a measurement

Draw five thousand identical five-planet systems, scatter their orbital planes by half a degree, and a third of the detections show all five. Scatter them by ten degrees and two thirds show exactly one. Every system has five.

A thermostat that only halves the error

The carbonate–silicate cycle is credited with keeping a planet's water liquid across the whole width of its habitable zone. Written down with its own measured exponents, it is a proportional controller that cancels about three-fifths of a change in sunlight, takes half a million years to do it — and reaches the published outer edge only on a planet with an order of magnitude more volcanism than the Earth.

A year too short to feel its own eccentricity

A planet on an eccentric orbit can have a comfortable average and murderous extremes, and the habitable zone is drawn from the average. Whether the surface lives on the average or on the extremes is not decided by the flux at all — it is the ratio of how long the surface takes to change temperature to how long the year lasts, and the star sets the year.

Steam before the zone existed

The smallest stars take hundreds of millions of years to contract onto the main sequence, shining at many times the luminosity they will settle at. A planet in the habitable zone such a star will eventually have spends that time with its ocean in the air as steam, while starlight splits the water and the hydrogen leaves — so the zone of the commonest star in the galaxy is a place that had to survive being too hot first.

The ladders in this field

16 anchors · one idea each

Microlensing Transits Reflex velocity Planet composition Direct imaging Detection bias Occurrence rates Radius valley Transit-timing Planet migration Resonance Exoplanet atmospheres Habitable zone Spin–orbit alignment Atmospheric escape The snow line

All fields · All essays