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Jan. 11, 2010 Out there in the night sky, between the parallels of 20˚ to 40˚ south latitude, available for viewing in the northern hemisphere from November to February, is a little constellation called Pyxis, or “the sailor’s compass.” Pyxis’s nearest stellar neighbors include Hydra, Antilia, Vela and Puppis. This entire assembly of constellations once belonged to one enormous star group called Navis Argon. Jason, Goddess-blessed adventurer of Greek mythology, owned and captained the great ship Argo in his pursuit of the Golden Fleece, which the constellation Navis Argon signified. In point of fact, the word pyxis is Latin for “box” and should not be confused with Circinus, the draftsman’s compass. It seems to me that Pyxis is the ideal name for a constellation having only three major stars, not one of which shines very brightly. Except for T Pyxidis. T Pyx is a binary and variable star. (It was named the Variable Star of the Month in April, 2002 by the AAVSO. Kind of a Playstar of the Month, I suppose.) Nicolas Louis de Lacaille (1713-1762) who died of gout at age 49, probably from an affinity for rum which can cause kidney immense damage by depositing crystals in those organs, introduced Pyxis to the world in a century that witnessed an enormous amount of astronomical hustle. De Lacaille dubbed the constellation Pyxis Nautica. Other star gazers shortened the name, which was probably just as well for an unassumingly faint, diminutive star assemblage. At least, Pyxis never filed a name complaint that I know of. Pardon me. I divagate. That is, I have strayed slightly from my subject, which is . . . hmmm . . . Oh yes! Which is T Pyx. The double star in de Lacaille’s constellation, Pyxis. Discovered in 1902 by Miss Leavitt of Harvard, T Pyx is a fascinating star. One of the few known recurrent nova in our neighborhood of the Universe, it is best seen in the Southern Hemisphere and the tropics. It holds the record for the largest number of observed eruptions. Five to date; seen (or revealed on photographs) in 1890, 1902, 1920, 1944, and 1967. This faint little duo was able to increase its magnification from about 16 (about 1000 times fainter than the dimmest star perceived by the human eye) to 6.3 on January 11, 1967. (The higher the number in the star-brightness charts, the lower the magnification.) Alas, T Pyx has not shown its shining face since 1967, 43 years ago, almost to the day. World astronomers, not to blame them, are troubled. The headline that caught my eye while cruising the Net the other day read: “Nearby Nova Could Spell Doom for Far Future Earth.” After explaining that a white dwarf star some 3,200 light-years away from Mother Earth appears to be powering up to go supernova, the article warned its readers against a huge blow-up. Such an explosion would have dire consequences for our planet and our possible descendants. What? You mean to tell me that my grandchildren to the 20th power might fry in their recycled Quonset huts as a star over 3000 light-years distant develops a case of hiccups? Apparently, the author/s had less and later danger on the brain. Possible destruction is approximately 10,000,000 years off. The article’s report begins with a description of the binary star system, T Pyxidis, in constellation Pyxis. The double star has one “huge white dwarf” (A slight oxymoron there, don’t you think?) that is known as a recurrent nova. It undergoes somewhat minor eruptions at more-or-less regular intervals. Astronomers have witnessed petite nova detonations every 20 years for over a century. As noted, the latest explosion was noted in 1967. Considerably longer ago than twenty years and the scientists know not why it is so awfully overdue. The scientific information on this star’s routine indigestion claims the outbursts are caused when the white dwarf sweeps up stray hydrogen gas from its partner star until bloat sets in. With sufficient gas in tow, the giant dwarf expels its overload, which creates a sizeable and bright blast. The distress of star-gazers is the amount of hydrogen expelled by the star during the nova events. They want to know, “Is it more or less than the amount siphoned from the white dwarf’s mate? “ If the mass of the star contains a greater mass than is ejected, then the dwarf is slowly but surely increasing its own mass and may someday reach the Chandrasekhar Limit. In England during 1939, Indian physicist, Subrahmanyan Chandrasekhar, worked on the calculation of a degenerate Fermi gas and solved the hydrostatic equation. What I want to know is why they didn’t give the name of this “limit” to Ralph Fowler who noted the relationship of density, energy and temperature as causing collapse in white dwarves back in 1926. The “Fowler Limit” would have been much simpler to memorize. At any rate, should the giant white dwarf decide to go Type A1 supernova the general consensus among astronomers is that T Pyx could be horrendously dangerous even from all those thousands of light-years away. The gamma rays released at that distance would hit Earth with the force of a thousand solar flares. More destructive than mere flaring would be the fact that those rays tend to create huge amounts of nitrous acid in the atmosphere, which would unquestionably wipe out the remains of our Ozone layer. My original source did rather sheepishly admit that T Pyxidis’s intimidation to belch our world out of existence in about 10,003,000 years, a mere moment in astronomical and geological values, was not much of a concern to us in this day and age. (Thank Heaven! We’ve got a profusion of fears right now.) Only our descendants, should there be any of them left at all, would have to deal with the collapse of T Pyx. For some weird reason, the entire time I worked on this article I heard Perry Como (a wonderful Italian former-barber who could sing your socks off) singing “Dream Along With Me.” The lyrics run like this:
“Dream along with me, I’m on my way to a star
Come along, come along, leave your worries where they are
Up and beyond the sky, watching the world roll by
Sharing a kiss, a sigh, just use your imagination
Dream along with me, I’m on my way to a star.”
And I ask, “Aren’t we all?”
Writing was always my first choice in life. I began writing at the age of 8, small books about pioneers heading west. Little did I know then that I would be living in the most "western" of all the states, Texas. No one told the Texans that they are simply Southerners who, like Bugs Bunny, took a wrong turn at Albuquerque and wound up here.
I am sneaking up on 70 years of age and now own a vast store of useless knowledge. Happy to share any or all of it with you all.
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