If you stepped off a spacecraft onto the surface of Titan, you might experience a little d j 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