One night a few years back I had a late night call from a friend who was involved in Breakthrough Starshot, the attempt to design a probe that could reach nearby stars and return data with transit times of decades rather than centuries. His news was surprising. The Parkes radio dish in Australia, then being used by the Breakthrough Listen SETI project, had detected a signal that seemed to come from Proxima Centauri. “What’s interesting,” said he, “is that when you move the dish off Proxima, the signal disappears.” You probably remember this episode, which had a brief moment in the news and may well live on among the conspiracy-minded in the wackier regions of cyberspace.

We know now that the signal was some form of radio frequency interference, commonly abbreviated RFI. In any case, our conversation was relatively tame because the idea of a terrestrial explanation seemed inevitable, no matter how tantalizing the first look at this signal. After all, with all the years of SETI effort since the original Project Ozma, was it likely that we would pick up a signal from the nearest of all stars? What were the odds that there would be a radio-using civilization so close to home?

Here I’m being deliberately provocative, because in fact we couldn’t know the odds. We know absolutely nothing about alien civilizations including whether or not they exist. To go science fictional, suppose Earth had triggered a nearby ‘lurker’ probe that had been in our Solar System monitoring our activities and had learned about our interest in the Alpha Centauri system. Would they possibly use a signal from Proxima as an introduction to first contact? Maybe from a lurker probe in that system? The scenarios can get as wild as anyone might wish. Best, then, to keep an eye on that signal.

It’s instructive to see what happened following the Proxima ‘detection,’ which occurred on April 29, 2019, and I’m reminded of it by Chris Lintott’s fine new book Accidental Astronomy (Basic Books, 2024). An astrophysicist at Oxford and well known television presenter for the BBC program ‘Sky at Night,’ Lintott writes with his usual grace about the often serendipitous way astronomical discoveries happen, from the appearance of ‘Oumuamua to the surprises Cassini found at Enceladus. The overall point is that you have to look to find something, and in astronomy keeping the lenses pointed without preconceptions often churns up something rare and strange.

So what was interesting about the April 29, 2019 event? One eye-catching thing was that the radio signature was extremely narrow, an interesting fact given that naturally emitted radio waves tend to cover a wide range of wavelengths. Narrow-band signals are the kind of thing we think of as the stuff of radio broadcasts. In other words, technologies. I mentioned that the signal disappeared when the Parkes dish was moved off Proxima, and it also reappeared when the dish was returned to the target. This process, known as ‘nodding,’ is a handy way to rule out background radio sources.

So the signal definitely had the attention of the scientists at Breakthrough Listen, who dubbed it BLC1 (Breakthrough Listen Candidate 1). It also seemed to show a Doppler effect, changing in frequency slightly as time passed in ways that would be expected for a transmitter on a planet orbiting a star. If you think back to the famous ‘Wow!” signal of August 1977, detected at the Big Ear radio telescope run by Ohio State University, you can place it and BLC1 in context. The key is to look for signals that are narrowband, and if they repeat, so much the better. The Wow! Signal didn’t repeat, but BLC1 showed up more than once in 2019.

After that, the repetitions ceased, with no appearances in the following years. Now what? Transmissions from Earth satellites were ruled out given their much greater frequency drift, and deep space probes like the Voyagers and New Horizons were not aligned to match the Proxima signal. At this point scientists were turning over rarer and rarer explanations, including a transmitter on an asteroid, or an Earth-based transmitter that was deliberately being used to mimic a legitimate SETI signal. None of this fit BLC1, which in any case tracked Proxima’s motion across the sky.

The problem with anomalies like this one is that they go up in smoke if similar events occur with mundane explanations. When analyzed more closely, the Parkes data from the relevant period between April and May of 2019 contained four new detections of BLC1. But they also contained the same signal some fifteen times during periods in which the telescope was not pointing at Proxima. And at least one of these detections persisted as the telescope moved on and then off the target, which ruled out a signal from an alien civilization and pointed to an explanation much closer to home.

Looking for similar signals at different frequencies then popped up many more examples of what Lintott calls “annoying chirps, caused by human-made sources emitting at many frequencies at once, interfering with the quest for aliens.”

Too bad. It was exciting for a while, but frankly, everyone I know who is mixed up with SETI studies more or less assumed that while an explanation had to be found, it would be one that involved RFI, and so it was. But notice what happened around this event. The news of the data-delving re Proxima Centauri got out to the Guardian, whose reporting on it eschewed sensationalism but nonetheless made a point: Almost anything that happens within a project exploring subjects as sensitive as SETI will come to someone’s attention outside the community sooner than you think.

That makes any idea that a future ‘first contact’ will be covered up by scientists or governments rather ludicrous. Lintott comments:

The idea of a clandestine network squirreling away evidence of signals in the sky is hard to reconcile with the fact that the most interesting signal found by SETI in decades ended up in the press almost immediately. There are something like fifteen thousand professional astronomers in the world, including PhD students, making up essentially a small village, and news travels fast, especially when telescopes are pressed into service globally to follow some new occurrence in the sky.

As Lintott notes, the same thing happened in 2017, when a gravitational wave event was matched with a visual signal detected by spaceborne instruments. This was the first time that newly detected gravitational waves could be correlated with a visual event, which swung telescopes worldwide in its direction. You can’t put a worldwide effort to study a single object into effect without thousands of people becoming aware of it, if only because these observations need to be coordinated.

Image: This picture combines a view of the southern skies over the ESO 3.6-metre telescope at the La Silla Observatory in Chile with images of the stars Proxima Centauri (lower-right) and the double star Alpha Centauri AB (lower-left) from the NASA/ESA Hubble Space Telescope. Proxima Centauri is the closest star to the Solar System and is orbited by the planet Proxima b, which was discovered using the HARPS instrument on the ESO 3.6-metre telescope. Credit: Y. Beletsky (LCO)/ESO/ESA/NASA/M. Zamani.

There is much in Accidental Astronomy that will bring anyone with a casual interest in the field up to date quickly. Current controversies and surprises include interstellar visitors like ‘Oumuamua and 2I/Borisov, the former of which produced a slight acceleration that inevitably raised questions (Lintott is circumspect in his treatment and clearly supports a natural explanation, though an open-minded one). Dyson spheres come up in the discussion of Boyajian’s Star, with its odd changes in brightness that are now thought to be unusual bands of dust that themselves are unexplained. The panoply of observing techniques and deep sky searches come into play in lucid and friendly prose. Befitting his BBC work, Lintott is a fine communicator.

The overall theme is a healthy one. Keep your eyes open, your lens covers off, your mind open. The inevitable corollary is: Don’t get locked into your own thinking to the point that you spend your career defending a hypothesis just because it’s yours. I always think of Voyager approaching Io and sending back images of volcanoes that only one team – Stan Peale, Patrick Cassen, and R. T. Reynolds – had thought would be there. Their paper in Nature appeared with Voyager 1 just three days out from the Jovian system. Talk about timing! Here’s Lintott on the matter:

We astronomers like being surprised, to wallow for the moment in the sense that there is more to understand. It’s a different feeling, utterly, from the way science and scientific progress are often portrayed on screen or in print, where you’re likely to hear stories about singularly clever people who have been blessed, with some clap of thunder, with a dose of cosmic truth before spending their careers trying to prove themselves right. The astronomy I know and love is more likely to involve a bunch of people staring at a screen and looking confused than to feature someone running down a corridor shouting “Eureka.”

So here’s to looking confused. Chris Lintott should be able to keep expanding on this theme in future editions because as the James Webb Space Telescope reminds us, every time we significantly upgrade our hardware, we see things we hadn’t expected to see. Ahead of us is the Vera Rubin Observatory, not to mention a generation of Extremely Large Telescopes (ELTs) that should be able to delve into exoplanet atmospheres around the closest stars. In a few scant decades we’ve gone from the idea that exoplanets are probably uncommon to the realization that they are ubiquitous. Who knows what the next transient in optical or radio wavelengths may bring?