StarDate

To the eye alone, the Pleiades cluster looks like a small dipper of about seven stars – a few more if you have nice, dark skies. But when Galileo Galilei looked at it with his first small telescope, he saw a few dozen stars. It was one of the first indications that there’s far more to the universe than meets the eye. You can share Galileo’s view with a basic pair of binoculars – no telescope required. They’re especially helpful tonight because of the Moon. It passes through the outskirts of the cluster, so it points the way. But the moonlight makes it tougher to see the stars. The Pleiades is a family of perhaps a couple of thousand stars. The stars were all born together, from the same cloud of gas and dust. That makes the cluster a good laboratory. Since the stars all started with the same mix of elements, any differences among them are the result of their evolution – changes within the stars themselves. That helps astronomers understand how all stars change over the eons. The cluster probably is a little more than a hundred million years old. That means it’s completed only about half an orbit around the center of the galaxy. During that time, it’s lost many of its original stars. And before it can complete one full orbit from its current location, it’s likely to evaporate – pulled apart by the gravitational tug of the rest of the galaxy. Tomorrow: a growing “danger zone.” Script by Damond Benningfield

Stars aren’t always nice to their offspring – especially at the end. As a star dies, it expands. It can get big enough to engulf some of its planets. The Sun, for example, is likely to swallow Mercury and Venus, and might get Earth as well. A star in Cygnus might have engulfed one of its planets fairly recently. Two others might be doomed as well. Kepler-56 isa red giant – a dying star that’s much bigger than the Sun. It has three known giant planets. Two of them are quite close in, so they may not survive the star’s final act. Kepler-56 is rotating much faster than most red giants. And vibrations at the surface reveal that its core and its outer layers are spinning at different rates and angles. There are several possible reasons for this odd behavior. One is the gravitational influence of the close-in planets. Another is that the star might have swallowed a planet early on. A recent study suggested something else: The star might have swallowed a planet fairly recently. The planet would have been about as massive as Jupiter, the giant of our own solar system. As it plunged in, its orbital momentum spun the star up. So Kepler-56 isn’t being kind to its offspring as its own life comes to an end. Kepler-56 is in the east-northeast at dawn. It’s half way between Deneb, Cygnus’s brightest star, and even brighter Vega. But Kepler-56 is too faint to see without a telescope. Script by Damond Benningfield

Things sometimes flash in the night sky. That includes some weird and wonderful astronomical objects. Some of them shine for a few minutes or even seconds, then vanish. So it can be tough to understand just what caused them. Thousands of these “transients” showed up in a decade-long look at the night sky. And a recent study found a statistical link between some of those transients and both nuclear weapons tests and reports of UFOs. The study analyzed thousands of nights of observations by the Palomar Sky Survey. From 1949 to 1958, astronomers repeatedly photographed the night sky on glass plates, looking to compile the best map of the heavens to date. Many of the plates revealed transients that were star-like pinpoints of light. They appeared out of nowhere, then disappeared just as quickly. The study found that, on average, the number of transients was greater on nights just after above-ground nuclear explosions. And there were more reports of UFOs on nights with more transients. There are many possible explanations. There could be problems with the original plates, for example. The nukes could’ve created some previously unknown effects in the atmosphere. The study also says the flashes could have been metallic objects far above our planet – perhaps even visitors from other worlds. But many scientists say we need a much more thorough look at the pictures before we’ll know what caused these flashes in the night sky. Script by Damond Benningfield

Long-term missions to the Moon and Mars will need a good understanding of the machines, the environment – and the people. Friction among crew members could make a mission much less productive – or even endanger lives. To minimize the risk, scientists are trying to understand how people get along during long periods of isolation. They’ve conducted test runs in laboratories. They’ve set up habitats on volcanoes and remote islands. They’ve studied research bases in Antarctica. And they’ve sent volunteers into the oceans. As with space travel, an undersea habitat is isolated and cramped, and the environment can be deadly. So it’s important for the crew to get along. NASA has conducted quite a few underwater expeditions. For many of them, astronauts spent a few days or weeks in a habitat off the coast of Florida. They conducted experiments both inside and outside the lab. They tested equipment and techniques that might be used in space. And scientists checked out how well they worked as a team. Recently, the European Space Agency sent 25 volunteers on a two-month trip aboard a submarine. Scientists used questionnaires to check on the volunteers. They also took samples of hair and saliva. The results helped track stress markers, changes in the immune system, and other reactions – better understanding the human factor in long-term missions to other worlds. Script by Damond Benningfield

If you stepped off a spacecraft onto the surface of Titan, you might experience a little dŽjˆ vu. Saturn’s largest moon has many of the same features as Earth. That includes rivers and seas, clouds, and even rainfall – it’s the only world in the solar system other than Earth with bodies of liquid on its surface. What wouldn’t seem familiar is the temperature – almost 300 degrees below zero Fahrenheit. In that icebox, water is frozen as hard as granite. So Titan’s rivers and seas and clouds are made of liquid methane and ethane. Titan is a large world – about half-again the diameter of our moon. And it has the densest atmosphere of any moon in the solar system; the surface pressure is equivalent to a depth of 50 feet in Earth’s oceans. The methane and ethane are quickly broken apart by sunlight, so the supply in the air has to be renewed. The most likely source is cryo-volcanoes – volcanoes that belch frozen water. Methane mixed with the water would waft into the atmosphere. The volcanoes could be fed by an ocean of liquid water below the surface – perhaps much more water than in all of Earth’s oceans combined. Both the ocean and the liquid bodies on the surface are possible homes for microscopic life – one more similarity to our own world. Saturn looks like a bright star near the Moon this evening. Through good binoculars or a small telescope, Titan looks like a tiny star quite near the planet. Script by Damond Benningfield

The planet Mercury is putting in a decent appearance in the evening sky now. It looks like a bright star low in the west during twilight. And tonight it has a prominent companion: the crescent Moon. In fact, they’ll look like they’re almost touching each other. Mercury is tough to see because it’s the closest planet to the Sun. Because of that, it never moves far from the Sun in our sky. At best, it’s visible for an hour or two after sunset or before sunrise. Right now, it’s farthest from the Sun in the evening sky. For a few nights, it won’t set until about an hour and 20 minutes after sunset. As twilight begins to fade, though, it’s so low in the sky that you’ll need a clear horizon to spot it. The Moon is just a day and a half past “new,” when it crossed between Earth and the Sun. So the Sun illuminates only a tiny fraction of the lunar hemisphere that faces our way. The rest of the disk will be faintly highlighted by earthshine – sunlight reflected from Earth. That will enhance the beauty of this duo in the fading twilight. Two other planets are close by. Saturn is to the upper right of Mercury and the Moon, and looks like a fairly bright star. Venus is heaving into view below them. It’s much brighter than Mercury, but much lower, making it tougher to pick out. But Venus will climb higher over the coming weeks – blazing as the “evening star.” More about the Moon and Saturn tomorrow. Script by Damond Benningfield

Car wrecks aren’t all alike, so there’s a wide range in the results. The same principle may apply to the bodies of the early solar system, when the planets were taking shape. In fact, a recent study says the modern appearance of the planet Mercury could be explained by a glancing blow between two bodies of similar size. Mercury is an oddball among the rocky planets of the inner solar system. Its metallic core accounts for about 70 percent of its mass – a far higher ratio than for Earth or the other planets. And the core is surrounded by a fairly thin mantle – a layer of lighter-weight rocks. Some simulations have suggested that was the result of a giant impact – a massive collision between bodies of much different sizes. Such impacts were common in the early solar system; one of them might have led to the creation of the Moon. But the recent study suggested something else. It found that a glancing blow between Mercury and a similar-sized planet could have stripped away much of Mercury’s mantle. But the research doesn’t tell us what happened to the other planet, or the debris from the impact. So scientists will ponder the possible collision a little longer to understand the planet Mercury. Mercury is peeking into view in the early evening. It looks like a bright star, but it’s quite low in the west during twilight, so it can be hard to spot. The Moon will join it tomorrow night; more about that tomorrow. Script by Damond Benningfield

There’s nothing like a merger to stir things up. That applies not only to companies and families, but to galaxies as well. One example is Messier 61. A recent merger with a smaller galaxy has brought its central black hole to life, triggered the birth of thousands of new stars. It also kicked out a ribbon of stars that’s as long as the galaxy itself. Messier 61 is a lot like our home galaxy, the Milky Way. It’s about the same size and mass, and it looks about the same – a beautiful spiral with a long bar of stars across its middle. But a close look shows big differences. M61 is giving birth to stars at a much faster rate than the Milky Way. It’s produced more supernovas – the explosive deaths of young, massive stars. The supermassive black hole in its heart is “feeding” much more voraciously. And last year, astronomers discovered a “streamer” of stars behind M61. The streamer is a hundred thousand light-years long, and ten thousand wide. The likely cause of all that activity is a merger with a smaller galaxy. The encounter squeezed big clouds of gas, triggering the starbirth. It provided fresh material for the black hole. And it pulled out stars in the galaxies to form the long tail – stirring things up in a beautiful spiral galaxy. M61 is 55 million light-years away, in Virgo. It climbs into the sky in mid-evening, and sails high across the south later on. It’s an easy target for binoculars. Script by Damond Benningfield

A celestial grandfather strolls low across the south on winter evenings. He’s represented by two stars. In the western world, they’re part of the constellation Columba, the dove. But in ancient China they were known as the Grandfather. The stars are Alpha and Epsilon Columbae. Coincidentally, they’re about the same distance from Earth – about 280 light-years. And both are much bigger and brighter than the Sun. But there’s a big difference in their ages, so the stars aren’t related. Alpha – the First Star of Grandfather – is the brighter of the two – the brightest member of Columba. It’s less than a hundred million years old – about two percent the age of the Sun. But it won’t be around much longer. It’s about four and a half times the mass of the Sun. Heavier stars age more quickly. In the next 150 million years or so, Alpha will move out of the “prime” phase of life and into the next phase, as a giant. Epsilon has already reached that phase. It’s not as massive as Alpha, but it’s about one and a half billion years older – a third the age of the Sun. It’s puffed up to many times the size of the Sun, so it shines much brighter. Before long, though, it will cast off its outer layers, leaving only its hot, dead core – and Grandfather will be down to a single star. Columba is low in the south-southeast at nightfall. Alpha and Epsilon are close together, near the center of the constellation. Script by Damond Benningfield

On summer nights, Earth faces the heart of the Milky Way Galaxy. That part of the Milky Way features dense clouds of stars. Under dark skies, it’s quite a sight. But during the long, cold nights of winter, we’re facing the opposite direction – toward the galaxy’s edge. So the Milky Way looks thin and faint – a bare ghost of its summer glory. No matter which direction you face, the hazy band of light known as the Milky Way represents the combined glow of millions of stars that outline the galaxy’s disk. The disk is about a hundred thousand light-years wide, but only a few thousand light-years thick. It contains a few hundred billion stars. The center of the galaxy is densely packed, like the downtown of a major city. But its outskirts are like the suburbs. There are fewer stars, and they’re more widely spread. And the closer to the galaxy’s edge, the more thinly spread the stars become. The Milky Way doesn’t end at the edge of the disk. The disk is surrounded by a “halo” of stars and dark matter. It extends hundreds of thousands of light-years into space in every direction. But the halo is like the countryside – a few solitary residents spread far and wide. So nothing in the halo is visible without a good telescope – far outside the galaxy’s disk. The Milky Way arcs high across the sky on February evenings. You need nice dark skies to see it – the thin but still beautiful glow of our home galaxy. Script by Damond Benningfield

If you walk under a ladder after breaking a mirror, does that make your day doubly unlucky? Since we’re a science program, we’ll say no. But that double-trouble philosophy underpins the superstitions about Friday the 13th. Both Friday and the number 13 have been considered bad luck. Put them together, and you have what may be the most feared of any day-and-date combo. The individual superstitions both have religious and mythological origins. In Christianity, for example, the Last Supper was shared by 13 men. And Jesus was crucified on a Friday. Just when the two were put together isn’t clear. The idea of Friday the 13th being unlucky shows up in some publications in France in 1834. The first record of it in the United States dates to 1882. How many people fear the date isn’t clear, either. But scientists have come up with a couple of names for it. The shorter one, believe it or not, is friggatriskaidekaphobia. Frigg was the Norse goddess for whom Friday is named, and triskaidekaphobia is fear of the number 13. Other than some unlucky teens in the “Friday the 13th” movies, there’s no evidence that the day is any more dangerous than any other. A study in 2011 compared hospital records for 13 Fridays the 13th to other date combinations. There was no bump in the number of emergency-room visits – nothing unlucky about Friday the 13th. Script by Damond Benningfield

The surface of Ariel looks like a sheet of paper that’s been loosely crumpled. It’s covered with ridges, wrinkles, and gashes. That may be telling us that Ariel once had a deep ocean of liquid water. Ariel is one of the larger moons of the planet Uranus. It’s about 720 miles in diameter – a third the size of our moon. It orbits just a hundred thousand miles from the planet – much closer than the Moon is to Earth. It’s roughly a 50-50 mix of ice and rock. Our only good look at Ariel came in 1986. Voyager 2 flew past it and photographed about a third of its surface. The pictures revealed a complex face. It has a mixture of old and young craters, deep ridges, and smooth plains that might have been paved by water gurgling up from inside the moon. A recent study modeled the orbit of Ariel over the ages. It found that the orbit was once much more lopsided than it is today. As Ariel moved in and out, the gravity of Uranus stretched and squeezed the little moon. That could have melted some of the ice inside it, creating an ocean a hundred miles deep, topped by a thin crust of ice. The stress of all the stretching and squeezing could have cracked the ice, creating the wrinkly surface we see today. Uranus is high overhead at nightfall. It’s below the Pleiades star cluster, and farther to the right of the bright orange star Aldebaran. Through good binoculars, the planet looks like a faint star. Script by Damond Benningfield

Ursa Major III is doomed. It’s falling apart, and may vanish completely in a couple of billion years. There’s not much to it even now. It’s so faint that it wasn’t discovered until 2023. It contains about 60 stars – all of them ancient, and all much smaller and fainter than the Sun. They add up to only about 16 times the Sun’s mass. They’re packed into a loose ball about 20 light-years wide. But the total mass is about 2,000 times greater than the mass of the visible stars. That’s led to some confusion about its nature. One idea is that it’s a small galaxy that’s orbiting the Milky Way. Most of its mass would consist of dark matter – matter that produces no energy, but that reveals its presence through its gravitational pull on the visible matter around it. A study last year suggested a different nature – a star cluster held together by a clump of black holes. The cluster might have been born with a hundred thousand stars or more. When some of the stars died, they formed black holes, which congregated near the cluster’s middle. The gravity of the Milky Way pulled away many of the cluster’s stars. Encounters with the black holes kicked out many more. And the study says the cluster will fall apart completely in about two billion years. The cluster – or galaxy – is about 30,000 light-years away, in the great bear. But Ursa Major III is far too faint to see, even with a telescope. Script by Damond Benningfield

Stars are born from huge clouds of gas and dust. Many of the stars remain close together, forming clusters. But as a cluster moves through the Milky Way, it gets pulled apart. The gravity of the rest of the galaxy tugs away the stars on the outskirts of the cluster. It also loosens the rest of the cluster, making it easier to pull away more stars. A recent study looked at how that’s played out in the region around the Pleiades cluster. Using telescopes in space and on the ground, researchers measured how fast the stars in the region are spinning. That provides a rough measure of their age – the younger the star, the faster it spins. They also measured the motions of the stars through the galaxy, allowing them to trace the paths of the stars far into the past. And they compared the compositions of the stars; stars that were born together are made of the same mixture of elements. From that, they found that the Pleiades and several smaller groups were close together tens of millions of years ago. That suggests they were born together before heading their separate ways. The study also found hundreds of stars between the groups that had belonged to one of the groups in the past. Today, the groups and loners are spread across 2,000 light-years of space – the Giant Pleiades Complex. Look for the Pleiades high overhead at nightfall. It looks like a tiny dipper – the heart of a once larger family of stars. Script by Damond Benningfield

Antares is a rare star. It’s one of the few named for what it’s not. The name is Greek. It combines “anti,” which means “against” or “opposed to” – with Ares – the Greek version of Mars, the god of war. So the name means “not Mars” or “rival of Mars.” It was given the name because its color is similar to that of Mars – bright orange. The color indicates that the surface of Antares is thousands of degrees cooler than the surface of the Sun. Cooler stars glow red or orange, while hotter stars are white or blue. Antares is one of many designations for the star. Because it’s the brightest star of Scorpius, it’s also known as Alpha Scorpii. And it’s also called the heart of the scorpion – Cor Scorpii. Antares also has designations in many catalogs – lists of stars that have something in common. It’s in the bright-star catalog as HR 6134. It has a companion star, so it’s in the binary-star catalog. And it’s in several catalogs of objects that produce a lot of infrared light. In all, Antares has dozens of names and catalog numbers – an impressive list for an impressive star. The gibbous Moon slips past Antares the next couple of mornings. The star will be to the left or lower left of the Moon at dawn tomorrow. And it will stand a little closer to the upper right of the Moon on Wednesday. Tomorrow: more stars for the Pleiades. Script by Damond Benningfield

Family members don’t always stay close together – they can be separated by thousands of miles. But one member of the Milky Way Galaxy’s family takes the separation to extremes. It’s 300,000 light-years from the center of the galaxy – one of the most distant residents of the Milky Way yet seen. NGC 2419 is a globular cluster – a group of about a million stars. They form a dense ball a few hundred light-years across. Any star near the middle of the cluster would have thousands of neighbors within a few light-years. Compare that to our own neighborhood – only three stars reside less than five light-years from the Sun. NGC 2419 is one of the Milky Way’s oldest family members. The cluster was born more than 12 billion years ago – not long after the galaxy itself. All of its big, bright stars burned out long ago. So almost all of the remaining stars are much less massive than the Sun. The cluster follows a highly stretched-out orbit around the center of the Milky Way. That’s led to suggestions that it was born elsewhere, then captured by the Milky Way. But there’s no confirmation of that idea. So NGC 2419 is still considered a far-away relative of the rest of the Milky Way. The cluster is in the uber-faint constellation Lynx, which is in the east-northeast at nightfall. NGC 2419 is an easy target for just about any telescope. Script by Damond Benningfield

Alpha Lyncis is only about a third of the age of the Sun. Yet the star has already zoomed through the prime phase of life. Now, it’s nearing the end of its life. And it’s letting us know about it – it’s the brightest star of the constellation Lynx. That’s not necessarily saying much. Lynx is a large constellation, but it’s faint – only a few of its stars are bright enough to see from light-polluted cities or suburbs. In fact, the astronomer who created it, in the 1600s, called it “Lynx” because you needed the eyes of one to see it. Alpha Lyncis is classified as a red giant. It’s about half-again the mass of the Sun. Heavier stars age more quickly. Such a star “burns” through the original hydrogen in its core in a hurry. As the core adjusts to the change, the star’s outer layers puff up. Today, Alpha Lyncis is more than 50 times the diameter of the Sun. As it got bigger, the star got cooler and redder – making it a red giant. Puffing up also made the star hundreds of times brighter than the Sun. So Alpha Lyncis is visible – faintly – even though it’s a little more than 200 light-years away. That makes it one of the few stars in this faint constellation that you don’t need the eyes of a lynx to see. Lynx is well up in the east-northeast at nightfall. It’s about half way between the Big Dipper and the twins of Gemini. But you need nice, dark skies to see much. More about the constellation tomorrow. Script by Damond Benningfield

The Moon snuggles close to the bright star Spica late tonight. They climb into good view by about midnight, and are high in the sky at dawn. At their closest, they’ll be separated by just a couple of degrees – about the width of your finger held at arm’s length. That closeness is just an illusion – the Moon and the star are separated by a vast gulf. The Moon is our closest neighbor. Tonight, it’s a little less than a quarter of a million miles away. At that distance, sunlight reflecting from the lunar surface takes about one and a third seconds to reach Earth. That means we see the Moon as it looked one and a third seconds earlier. The Moon is moving farther from us – by an inch and a half per year. That’s a result of the tides. Earth and Moon exert a gravitational grip on each other. That slows Earth’s rotation, making the days a little longer. To balance the books, the Moon moves farther away. Spica is more than nine billion times farther than the Moon. Its light takes about 250 years to reach Earth – the star is 250 light-years away. So as you look at Spica tonight, you’re actually seeing the bright star as it looked 250 years ago – about the time of the American Revolution. And it’s moving away as well – by about 60 million miles per year. That’s a result of Spica’s motion around the center of the galaxy – an orbit that’s carrying the brightest star of Virgo into the distance. Script by Damond Benningfield

The star cluster M79 is messy. It’s shedding some of its stars, creating a “tail.” Over the eons, in fact, the cluster might have lost most of the stars it was born with. Messier 79 is a globular cluster – a ball-shaped family of about 150,000 stars. The cluster is more than 11 billion years old, so its stars are among the oldest in the entire Milky Way Galaxy. There’s a trail of stars behind the cluster. The stars probably were stripped away by the gravity of the rest of the galaxy – especially its dense core. Today, M79 is about 42,000 light-years from the Milky Way’s heart. But its orbit might bring it within just a few hundred light-years of the center. At that distance, the gravity of the galaxy’s core overpowers the gravity of the cluster. So stars in M79’s outskirts are pulled away. Eventually, they move away, and follow their own paths across the galaxy. Some simulations have suggested that M79 has lost up to 85 percent of its original population of a million stars or so. And every future passage through the heart of the galaxy will pull away more stars – leaving only a glimmer of M79’s original glory. M79 is in Lepus, the hare. The constellation is close to the lower right of bright Orion, in the southeast at nightfall. M79 is below the outline of the rabbit. You need binoculars to pick it out. Script by Damond Benningfield

In 1845, British astronomer J.R. Hind saw an amazing star in the constellation Lepus, the rabbit. He wrote that the star looked “like a drop of blood on a black field.” Officially, the star is called R Leporis. But it’s also known as Hind’s Crimson Star – a star that looks redder than almost any other star in the galaxy. R Leporis is a little heavier than the Sun. But it’s much later in life, which makes it a lot more interesting. It’s “fused” the original fuel in its core to make oxygen and carbon. Today, it’s producing energy in shells of hydrogen and helium around the core. Those changes have caused the star’s outer layers to puff up, so R Leporis is hundreds of times the Sun’s diameter. But those layers are unstable. They pulse in and out like a beating heart. Each “beat” lasts about 14 and a half months. During that cycle, the star’s brightness varies dramatically; at its peak, it’s hundreds of times brighter than at its faintest. As the star pulses, its temperature changes. At its largest, it’s a bit cooler, so it looks redder. And that color is amped up by the material in its outer layers. Carbon is pulled up from deep inside the star. It absorbs blue wavelengths of light, allowing the red to shine through – enhancing the “bloody” look of Hind’s Crimson Star. Lepus is in the southeast in early evening, to the lower right of Orion. But you need a telescope to see Hind’s Crimson Star. Script by Damond Benningfield