Kepler mission announces two exoplanets in the habitable "zone"

The planets are the right temperature and size to support liquid water.

The Kepler mission, a NASA project to find and profile planets outside of our solar system, has announced the discovery of two potentially habitable exosolar planets.

The planets are part of a system, Kepler-62, which is thought to contain five roughly earth-sized planets. The biggest is almost twice earth's size; the smallest slightly more than half.

That alone is notable, because the normal way the Kepler mission identifies planets is by measuring the gravitational they exert on their star. A big enough planet will pull the star slightly closer to the earth when it's on one side, and slightly further when it's on the other. That causes a minute fluctuation in the brightness of the star, measured from our planet, which the Kepler orbital observatory can sense.

But only the largest gas giants have such an effect, and while they are noteworthy finds in themselves, they aren't habitable. To find smaller planets, the mission looks at stars which have other fluctuations in light – due to planets passing in front of them. They then have to model every possible reason why those fluctuations could occur, and hope that they find that the most likely cause is exoplanets traversing the star.

The planets which they've found this way aren't just earth sized, though. Two of them, each measuring around 1.5 times the size of earth, are roughly the same distance away from their star as we are. Their orbits take a third and two thirds of an earth year each, but, because their star is less bright than our sun, they receive 1.2 and 0.4 times the light, respectively, that we do.

That will equal one hot planet and one cold one – but either of them might be in the so-called "habitable zone", where liquid water can exist. And liquid water is the only universal prerequisite we know for life.

The authors note that their method cannot tell if the planets are even rocky, as opposed to gas giants, let alone whether they actually have an atmosphere or water. But they are some of the best candidates we've found to date.

And crucially, we've found them fast. The Kepler telescope has been in orbit for around half its expected life, but it's already produced a vast amount of data to crunch. It's discovered almost 3,000 possible exoplanets, and has already found one that could have water. If the hit rate stays high, there could be many more.

Johannes Kepler, the 16th century astronomer for NASA's mission is named. Image: Hulton Archive/Getty Images

Alex Hern is a technology reporter for the Guardian. He was formerly staff writer at the New Statesman. You should follow Alex on Twitter.

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Why I refuse to complain about email spam

The bleaker things get, the easier it is to be annoyed about absolutely everything.

“I need just one night and your cock
I want to give you a [sic] head Nice [sic] ginger hair and big bubbly boobs”

It reads like poetry. Poetry by an early 00s DVD player that has recently mastered the English language and doesn’t know what to do with it. A DVD player that’s lying on a skip and has a discarded Cornetto sitting atop its plastic exoskeleton like a depressing party hat, sluggishly oozing ice cream into all its crevices. Yes. If a broken and abandoned DVD player were to start writing poems, they’d probably look a bit like that stunningly naïve and post-post-modern cock and bubbly boobs mess.

Innermost contemplations of an obsolete piece of technology or not, these lines of poetry recently appeared in my email junk folder. Subject line: “Sex right now.” Sender: “Teresa Hughes”.

The bleaker things get (economically, politically, socially) the easier it is to complain about absolutely everything. Knowing that I’ll probably spend the rest of my life either living with my parents or renting shitholes from miserly Dickensian landlords makes selfie sticks all the more annoying. And slow walkers. And rugby fans. And people who stand on street corners, shouting about Jesus and doom. All of these things, within the context of generalised rubbishness, are worthy of a billion pissed off tweets.

Spam, on the other hand, the bugbear of the privileged but stressed since about 1996, is one of the increasingly few things about which I refuse to complain. Reason being: spam, the porny kind in particular, has always been there for me… in a way.  

I can’t remember my first email address. Knowing prepubescent me, it was probably a) boringly weird and b) just a fucking abomination. Something like What I can remember though is being emailed about blowjobs way before I knew what they were. Which was, in a sense, educational.

Over the past few days, my junk folder has been inundated by requests from robots who want to do stuff to my penis. This is my first incursion of porn spam in a long while; years, possibly. And I’m finding it almost impossible to be annoyed or disgusted by it. Instead, I’ve been getting nostalgic. Nostalgic for a simpler digital time. A time in which connecting to the internet made a sound like an android with norovirus, and people were trusting enough to click on links in emails with subject lines like, “Mega-PU$$Y 4 U!!!!”.

I like to imagine that, over the next century, great leaders will come and go; empires will rise and fall; bootcut jeans will have moments of fashionableness roughly every fifteen years; and, all the while, people like “Teresa Hughes” will email us reminders that they would dearly like to suck us off, in exchange for a hard drive-melting virus.

Plus, I was only being a little bit facetious about that “poem” thing. When I did an art history elective at uni, a lot of it was spent gazing at pictures of Marcel Duchamp’s “Fountain” (that urinal that’s art) and wondering what art actually is. Can a urinal be art? Can Danny Dyer be art? And, most pressingly, can spam be art? In one word: sure.

Let’s return our attention to those lines of spam at the beginning of the piece. I shall now attempt to apply GCSE-level analysis to Sex Now by “Teresa Hughes” (the lesser-known offspring of Ted and Sylvia, presumably).

The speaker, a woman, in a grab for immediate attention, addresses the reader directly. The line break after “cock” places emphasis on that word, reassuring the reader just how much she “needs” his/her penis. The unusual phrasing in the next line, “a head”, rather than “head”, for example, is a play on words that neatly juxtaposes [seriously, how much did you use the word “juxtapose” in GCSE English essays?] the primal act of giving head with the intellectual act of having one (and using it).  The alliteration in “big bubbly boobs” highlights the exact largeness and roundness pertaining to the speaker’s breasts. Furthermore, she wants us to know that her horniness transcends grammar.

Even furthermore, spam is literature and the world would be a darker place without it. So don’t be a great honking philistine and complain about it.

Eleanor Margolis is a freelance journalist, whose "Lez Miserable" column appears weekly on the New Statesman website.