earth radius

Four witnesses to a single crossing. On November 10, 2017, the four MMS spacecraft flew through an invisible boundary in the solar wind where magnetic field lines reconfigure and release energy.

Pulsar PSR J0614-3329 spins 318 times per second. A point on its equator moves at about 10% of the speed of light. From a distance, the star looks like a lighthouse spinning so fast that its beam blurs into a continuous ring.

The family album of this stellar pair has been filling up for 45 years, but the pictures were blurry and the captions contradictory. Now astronomers have pulled out the old photographs, taken new sharp shots, and put everyone back in their proper places. Gamma Cephei is a bright star visible to the naked eye, and it has an invisible companion that orbits it every 70 years.

In the dark kitchen of the Taurus molecular cloud, 450 light-years away, dozens of planetary systems are being prepared. Each young star is a chef, and its protoplanetary disk is a counter piled with flour-like dust and steam-like gas.

Cosmic rays aren't rays in the usual sense: they're fast particles bombarding Earth from all directions. Mostly they're protons and atomic nuclei. Their energies vary widely, from modest to fantastically huge. When such a particle heads our way and the Moon or Sun gets in its path, it gets absorbed.

Edge of the spotlight. Remove the dazzling light of the central star, and a theater of shadows emerges. The James Webb coronagraph, like a dense curtain, hid the star TW Hydrae — and on a stage 120 astronomical units long (four times the distance to Neptune), its protoplanetary disk came alive.

When a distant planet passes in front of its star, it briefly blocks part of the light. Astronomers call this a transit and judge the planet's size by the depth of the dip. But light has a property: a massive body acts like a lens. Even a giant planet can slightly bend the star's rays, and the dip becomes a bit shallower than you might expect.

A spotlight blazes straight into your eyes, and a few steps away a tiny firefly flickers. That's roughly what it's like hunting for an Earth-like planet around a neighboring star: the planet is a hundred million to ten billion times fainter than its star, and in the sky they almost merge into a single point.

For almost a century, seismology has been the planet’s chief X-ray, probing the interior through elastic waves. But neutrinos, ghost particles predicted by Wolfgang Pauli, offer a different perspective.

Neutron stars are the final chord in the evolution of massive suns. Born in the cataclysm of a supernova, they pack a mass comparable to the Sun's into a sphere the size of an earthly metropolis.

In the catalogs of exoplanets, there are many worlds with sizes between Earth and Neptune. They are divided into two groups: rocky super-Earths and gaseous mini-Neptunes. The Solar System has none of these, and scientists debate where they come from. The authors of the study looked into each planet's 'passport'—its orbit.

Perth residents know: when the daytime heat becomes unbearable, relief arrives from the ocean — a fresh breeze affectionately called the Freo Doctor. The same wind, only on a global scale, decides the fate of cosmic visitors plunging into the atmosphere. A meteorite fall is a two-act spectacle.

Among the icy chunks hurtling through the void, there are special travelers — interstellar comets. They were born around distant stars and happened to wander into our neighborhood. One of them, 3I/ATLAS, came under the gaze of telescopes as it approached the Sun. Its material, frozen gases and refractory dust, began to evaporate, leaving a glowing tail behind.

At the edge of the solar system, where the Sun is barely brighter than other stars, icy boulders, trans-Neptunian objects, circle around. Their orbits resemble hoops scattered by someone. But look closer: twelve of these hoops are not just floating in the void.

Two beams of light race around a closed loop, heading toward each other. Since the speed of light is constant, when the ring turns, one beam has to catch up with a moving finish line, while the other meets it sooner. Their meeting creates a pattern, and from that pattern we can tell how fast the whole system is spinning.

At the edge of the solar system, far beyond Neptune, hundreds of icy chunks circle the Sun. Some of them move as if an invisible hand had aligned their orbits like compass needles. Ten years ago, this led astronomers to suspect that a massive planet, about ten times heavier than Earth, is hiding there.

A spinning top launched into weightlessness doesn't just rotate around its axis: it also wobbles, like a drunken sailor. That's exactly how the asteroid Apophis behaves: it doesn't spin neatly but tumbles through space. On April 13, 2029, this celestial wanderer will whiz past at about 38,000 kilometers from Earth — closer than communications satellites.

Imagine a dark room with dust floating in the air. A bright flashlight goes off, and the dust particles light up, revealing their positions. Astronomers have applied a similar trick to our Galaxy. The flashlights were gamma-ray bursts, the most powerful explosions in distant galaxies, and the dust particles were interstellar clouds.

Astronomers pointed JWST at a planet near the star Epsilon Indi — a giant gas ball resembling Jupiter, just 12 light-years away. In thermal images, the planet shone like a lantern. But nearby they noticed a faint dot — like a firefly. Calculations showed that two objects describe the picture better than one. However, it's most likely a lens flare — like a ghost of a lamp.

At night, a distant streetlamp seems motionless, but if you walk closer and look carefully, you might notice it swaying slightly in the wind. That's roughly how astronomers hunt for planets around other stars: they measure how a star shifts ever so slightly under the gravitational tug of its invisible companions.

Every 1151 years, seven planets of the Solar System, from Mercury to Neptune, find themselves at almost the same points in their orbits. Their positions scatter by less than a degree, as if the celestial mechanism is wound to the same tune. This rhythm was discovered by comparing planetary positions over 2600 years using precise tables of celestial motion.

The night sky is full of beacons that blink on schedule. Pulsars are fast-spinning neutron stars whose radio pulses arrive with clockwork precision. But there are other beacons too: they stay silent for minutes or hours, then suddenly emit a single pulse, and go quiet again.

The tiny star LHS 3844 is trembling. The invisible culprit is a rocky planet that whips around it every 11 hours. The planet pulls on the star, and the star responds with a barely perceptible wobble. Detecting that wobble is like noticing a 100-kilogram weightlifter step forward when a fly lands on his palm.

The Gaia space telescope measures star positions with an accuracy of a microarcsecond, like spotting a coin on the Moon from Earth. In 2022, it noticed that the bright star HD 12800 was wobbling slightly, as if tugged by an invisible companion. Astronomers hypothesized that a planet orbits the star. But a wobble can be deceiving.

Seven hours: that's how long a year lasts on TOI-4552b. It whips around its star faster than some moons orbit Earth. The star is a dim red dwarf, four times smaller than the Sun, but the planet is so close that it receives hundreds of times more heat than we do.

Every 3.97 days, the disk of the star TOI-1080 dims slightly. The shadow lasts a few hours — a planet passing in front of its star, like a fly in front of a lamp. Such 'eclipses' are caught by the TESS space telescope, which watches thousands of stars at once.

Beneath a thin layer of red dust on Mars lies water ice. Its presence was confirmed by the Phoenix lander and orbital instruments, but the mystery remained: why is the ice always just a few centimeters below the surface? The answer lies in the wobbles of Mars' axial tilt.

Every second, invisible particles from space, cosmic rays, strike Earth's atmosphere. Colliding with air molecules, they produce showers of secondary particles, among which muons are especially abundant. A muon is a heavy cousin of the electron that lives only a couple of microseconds but still manages to reach the ground.

The Kepler telescope William Borucki's caught the faint twinkling of distant stars and discovered thousands of planets around other suns. Among them gapes a gap: almost no worlds sized between rocky balls and puffy water giants.

If you spill a handful of colorful beads on the floor, they will land differently: some will clump together, others will scatter into corners. Roughly the same way, galaxies of different colors (blue, green, and red) are scattered across the universe. Scientists decided to measure how 'clumpy' their distribution is using a number called the fractal dimension.

A stag beetle the size of a fingernail stands on the ground with its legs spread wider than its own height. An elephant as tall as a room, on the other hand, towers above the ground like a tower. Why is that? Both animals walk on the same ground, but they see it differently. For a beetle, each pebble is a boulder, while for an elephant, it's a grain of sand.

For ten hours, the star HD 137010 dimmed a little, like a lamp with a speck of dust on it. The K2 telescope caught this in 2017, and in all the observing time, it happened only once. Astronomers realized: a planet had passed in front of the star. This way of finding worlds is called the transit method. When a planet crosses the star's disk, the star briefly fades.

350 light-years away, four planets orbit the star V1298 Tau. They are 5–10 times larger than Earth but lighter than they appear. For nine years, astronomers tracked their motion to understand what they are made of and how they lived in the past. The planets are lined up in a chain: their orbital periods are nearly in 3:2, 2:1, and 3:1 ratios.

An ordinary lump of coal left under the blazing sun just heats up. But if you take it into space and bring it twenty times closer to the Sun than Earth is, it won't survive for more than a few minutes. That's roughly how dark, carbon-rich asteroids behave. They are rarely found on orbits that dive deep inside Mercury's orbit.

Two new planets are circling dim red stars. One is nearly the size of Earth, the other is three and a half times larger. Both lie in what astronomers call the warm zone: a region where starlight doesn't scorch the surface but also doesn't leave it in perpetual cold. The host stars are red dwarfs, the most common stars in the galaxy.

Sun-like stars rarely spin alone. Many of them dance with invisible partners — brown dwarfs: objects bigger than planets but too lightweight for steady stellar burning. In their cores, hydrogen fusion flickers, only to fade fast, never matching the stability of the Sun.

A bus schedule drifts: if you don't check it, you'll miss your ride. Planets around other stars have the same problem – their crossings of the star's disk gradually shift. The ExoClock project pooled 30,000 observations from Earth and space to refine the schedule for 620 distant worlds. For 45% of the planets, transits were found to be off by hours.

Only by passing in front of a star did Chiron reveal its secret. Three icy hoops encircle the 200-kilometer body — a hybrid of comet and asteroid. Previously, they were only hinted at by spectra of reflected light and brightness fluctuations.

In August 2024, the MIRI coronagraph on the James Webb Space Telescope stared at Alpha Centauri A, the nearest Sun-like star to our Sun. At 1.5 arcseconds from the star, a point source, S1, blinked into view. Flux: 3.5 mJy, contrast: 5.5×10⁻⁵. Four to six sigma. A lighthouse flashing in the fog.

The RATAN-600 radio telescope is a ring of hundreds of aluminum panels on a mountainside in Karachay-Cherkessia. In the spring of 2018, its mirror caught radio waves from sixteen red dwarfs — small, dim, but very long-lived stars.