The escape-diagram generator
The fraction of a Maxwellian gas that is moving fast enough to escape, against the Jeans parameter λ = GMm/kTR — the ratio of a molecule's gravitational binding energy to its thermal energy, and the only quantity this problem has. The curve is (1 + λ)e^−λ, and the reason it is drawn on a logarithmic axis spanning 17 decades is the whole argument: escape is not a threshold that a molecule is or is not over. The mean speed of a gas at any temperature a planet has is far below its escape speed — the tail is what leaves, and the tail is an exponential. So a gas at λ = 3 is gone in a geological instant, a gas at λ = 25 is there for the age of the universe, and there is no sharp line between: the conventional criterion of λ ≈ 36 is a place on a slope, chosen because it is where the loss time crosses the age of the solar system for a body of planetary size. A factor of two in the temperature is a factor of 10⁴ in the loss rate, which is why the *exospheric* temperature — the one the extreme ultraviolet sets, not the one the sunlight sets — is the only temperature that matters.
7 essays call
escape-diagram. The drawing above is what it returns with no arguments at all; every
call below passes it something, because a placement that passes nothing draws whichever member
of the family the generator happens to default to rather than the one its essay argues about.
Where it is called
Every figure listed here is the same construction drawn at different numbers, so a correction to one is a correction to all of them.
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.
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.
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 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.
An escape that stops following the starlight
The standard estimate of how fast a planet loses its atmosphere assumes the loss grows in proportion to the ultraviolet light it absorbs. It does, up to a point. Beyond about ten thousand erg per square centimetre per second the escaping gas is fully ionised, its heat leaves as Lyman-α light instead of lifting anything, and the loss grows only as the square root of the flux — so the one efficiency every calculation needs is really a function of where the planet sits.
A helium line that weighs the star first
The metastable helium line at 1083 nanometres made the escape of a planet's atmosphere measurable from the ground. But the atoms it sees exist only in a balance between the star's extreme-ultraviolet light, which fills the level, and its mid-ultraviolet, which empties it — so the same outflow is six times deeper around an active K dwarf than around an F star, one depth allows a fifty-fold range of mass-loss rates across the wind's possible temperatures, and a rate inferred from it inherits a share of every error in a spectrum that cannot be observed.
An envelope that boils down before the starlight strips it
The usual story of how small planets lose their hydrogen starts with the star's ultraviolet light and runs for a hundred million years. It skips the first million. When the gas disc that fed a young planet disappears, an envelope that was swollen and held in by the disc's pressure is suddenly exposed, and it pours off as a wind powered by ordinary heat — until it has shrunk to the size at which the same number near thirty that governs every escaping atmosphere shuts the flow off.