sub neptune formation

In the Moon's polar craters, where sunlight never reaches, regolith may accumulate electric charge for decades, buried deep below the surface. It's like a bank account where deposits and balance don't match: a particle delivers energy, but the charge doesn't always stay put.

In the depths of sub-Neptunes, the most common type of planet in the Galaxy, though not one you could stand on, silicate magma and hydrogen mix into a single supercritical cocktail. Previously, it was thought that beneath the dense hydrogen atmosphere lay a sharp boundary with molten silicate, like oil on water.

Deep inside a neutron star, where matter is compressed to the density of an atomic nucleus, neutrons form a superfluid and protons form a superconductor. A neutron vortex is a quantized vortex in the superfluid, akin to a miniature whirlpool that cannot stop spinning.

Deep inside a sub-Neptune, where pressures reach a hundred thousand bars and temperatures hit four thousand degrees, rock behaves like boiling soup. Heavy vapors of silicon and magnesium rise, cool, and fall back as a rain of solid particles.

The night sky seems unchanging, but galaxies constantly exchange matter. The Milky Way, like a great river, absorbs smaller streams — dwarf galaxies. Along with their stars, planets may also come to us.

A star is not just a distant sun. It's a cradle for planets, and its light carries the birth story of the entire system. The chemical composition of a star is its DNA. Astronomers peer into this DNA to understand why some stars host rocky worlds like Earth, while others host gas giants.

In a single star system, two teams of planets orbit. Some follow neat paths, like figure skaters on an ice rink, avoiding collisions. Others crowd together, their trajectories cross, and sooner or later a cosmic accident occurs — a giant impact.

Among the scorching exoplanets that circle perilously close to their stars lies the secret of their birth. Nearly three decades ago, Michel Mayor and Didier Queloz discovered the first such world, and since then astronomers have been tormented by the question: how does a gas giant end up pressed against…

When the JWST telescope breaks the light of a distant exoplanet into a spectrum, it reads a chemical chronicle. But this chronicle is not a monolithic truth; it's an atmosphere constantly rewritten by the star's radiation.

In 2024, the team led by David Charbonneau pointed the Magellan telescope with the WINERED spectrograph at LHS 1140. During transit, high-resolution spectroscopy caught the absorption line of metastable helium at 10833 Å.

Two ultradense spheres, each the size of a city, whirl in a dance. Their masses are less than the Sun's, but inside them is matter compressed to unimaginable limits. One sphere is a neutron star; the other is a strange star, made entirely of quarks — the elementary particles that build up protons and neutrons.

Forget the familiar images of planetary cores — a sharp boundary between rock and gas is a thing of the past. The Juno probe, diving into Jupiter’s gravitational field, and Cassini, into the embrace of Saturn, discovered that heavy elements are not gathered at the center but smeared over a vast region, as if someone carelessly shook a cocktail.

A ball, almost weightless for its size, circles its star every four days. Planet TOI-2195 A b is a real riddle: by mass it's slightly heavier than Neptune, yet bloated to Jovian volumes. If there were an ocean big enough, this exoplanet would float on its surface like a giant inflatable ball.

A sub-Neptune is a planet that falls between Earth and Neptune in size. These worlds are abundant in our galaxy, but their internal structure has been hotly debated. New research shows that in their youth, these planets behave like a sponge soaked with water.

Hundreds of light-years away, there's a planet that looks like a giant mirror. LTT9779b reflects most of the light that hits it — far more than you'd expect from a Neptune-sized body. Astronomers have long debated what makes it so shiny: a thick carbon-rich haze or a layer of clouds. The James Webb Space Telescope has helped settle the debate.

A scorching rocky planet is like a pot of boiling soup, except its lid is the atmosphere. Gases escape from the magma, wrap the world in a thick blanket, and in turn influence how quickly the celestial body cools. For GJ 1132 b, which orbits so close to its star that a year lasts just one and a half Earth days, this connection is especially important.

A pot of boiling soup is shaken hard — the liquid sloshes, waves crash against the walls. Something similar happens inside a gas planet when it swings past its star on an elongated orbit. The star's gravity excites powerful internal waves in the planet, known as tidal fundamental modes. These waves can completely change the planet's fate.

Previously, Uranus and Neptune were considered ice giants because of assumed thick layers of frozen water, methane, and ammonia. New calculations paint a different picture: deep inside them hides an ocean of hot magma, which under immense pressure has absorbed a colossal amount of hydrogen.

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.

A planet the size of Neptune, but glowing white-hot. Beneath the clouds lies an ocean of magma capable of absorbing an entire hydrogen atmosphere. The new SEAMIST model is the first to trace how such dissolution changes a planet's fate from birth to old age. The big surprise is the mechanism of catastrophic boiling.

The James Webb Space Telescope peered into a disk of gas and dust around a young star where planets are born, and for the first time spotted ice made of heavy water. This water is not ordinary: in its molecules, regular hydrogen is replaced by deuterium, its heavier sibling.

Astronomers using the JWST (James Webb Space Telescope) have for the first time studied in detail the atmosphere of a young exoplanet, V1298 Tau c. This super-Earth, a planet more massive than Earth but less so than gas giants, is only 23 million years old.

A kindergarten where some kids are busy making sandcastles while others are already assembling building blocks. That's roughly what the V1298 Tau system looks like: it's only 20 million years old — by cosmic standards, it just left the nursery. Several planets orbit it, and two of them, b and e, turned out to be surprisingly different.

Neutron stars are super-dense spheres of the remnants of exploded stars. Some of them we see as pulsars — cosmic lighthouses sending out radio bursts. What's inside them long remained a mystery. Physicists assumed that hidden fields could affect their structure, but it was believed that if the field is short-range, its effect is negligible.

In the first moments after the Big Bang, matter and antimatter should have been created in equal amounts. But today we see only matter — stars, planets, ourselves. Where did the antimatter go? One clue hides in nearly elusive particles: right-handed neutrinos. The usual story is that their decays create a slight bias in favor of matter.

Light takes 124 years to reach us. That's how long it takes for the star's rays to bring news of K2-18b — a planet entirely covered by an ocean but wrapped in a thick hydrogen blanket. It's about two and a half times the size of Earth. For a long time, scientists debated: a water world with a dense atmosphere, or a scaled-down Neptune without a solid surface?

In the crowded center of the galaxy, two stars orbit so close together that one strips the outer layers off the other, like wind blowing off a coat. What remains is a hot helium core, a star without a hydrogen envelope.

A pot of boiling lava, sealed with a thick lid of gas. That's roughly what sub-Neptunes look like — planets that are common around other stars but absent in our own solar system. Beneath a thick hydrogen atmosphere sloshes a molten magma ocean.

Beyond Neptune, in the icy belt, astronomers watched as object (612533) 2002 XV93 momentarily occulted a distant star. Using метод прохождений (when a planet dims the star's light for a second, like a fly in front of a lamp), Уильям Боруки and Дэвид Шарбонно determined: the light not only dimmed but also shifted…

Steam over a boiling pot slightly tints the light of a flashlight: it blocks some colors and lets others through. That's roughly how we study the air of distant planets.

The outer crust of a neutron star is like a layered cake, where each layer is a strictly defined filling. It's a crystalline lattice of atomic nuclei immersed in a sea of electrons. The deeper you go, the stronger the pressure, and the heavier the nuclei that can exist there without falling apart.

A planet's magnetic field is like an invisible shield: it catches charged particles from the solar wind and stretches out behind the planet into a long tail, like a fluttering scarf.

The carousel spins all the horses in one direction, but one stubbornly gallops against the flow. That's exactly how the planet TOI-1710 b behaves around its star. Using the HARPS-N and GIANO-B instruments, astronomers measured its tilt at 149 degrees. That's nearly a 180-degree flip, meaning the planet orbits "backward" relative to the star's rotation.

Titan is a cold world with methane lakes and a dense orange atmosphere. But beneath the icy crust, warm puddles may hide, formed after meteorite impacts. In such a puddle, like a chemical flask the size of Selk Crater, simple gases from the air, hydrogen cyanide and acetylene, mix.

Around distant icy bodies the size of a city, circling beyond Neptune, rings of dust and ice have been found. Small moons often whirl nearby. Mathematical analysis shows that a moon's gravity rocks the ring like a swing, making it tilt.

Rocky planets orbit dim red stars. Some of them have a year shorter than an Earth day: these worlds are called ultra-short-period planets. Their surfaces are scorching, and their skies are forever bathed in crimson light.

At the dawn of Earth, about four billion years ago, the planet was a harsh place: a dim sun, frequent asteroid impacts, and air without oxygen. Under such conditions, the first steps of life seem almost impossible.

A telescope stares at a planet 124 light-years away and sees gases in its atmosphere that on Earth are produced by microbes. The immediate thought: life. But it's not that simple. Planet K2-18b is a sphere wrapped in a thick layer of hydrogen. In such a layer, like in a giant chemical flask, reactions take place.

An icy rock is flying through the Solar System on an open trajectory — coming in from interstellar space, swinging around the Sun, and heading back into the dark.

NASA's TESS space telescope monitors thousands of stars, catching the moment when a planet crosses its star's disk — the star's light dims slightly. That's how astronomers spotted two planets orbiting stars similar to our Sun. One, TOI-883 b, completes an orbit in ten days; the other, TOI-899 b, takes nearly thirteen.