Some people can evade diseases even though they carry genetic mutations that cause serious problems for others.

Researchers found 13 of these genetic escape artists after examining DNA from nearly 600,000 people, the scientists report online April 11 in Nature Biotechnology. Learning how such people dodge genetic bullets may help move inherited-disease research from diagnosis to prevention.

Hundreds of mutations that lead to genetic diseases have been uncovered since the discovery of a disease-causing flaw in the “cystic fibrosis gene” in 1989. But, says study coauthor Stephen Friend, “finding the gene that causes the disease is not the same as finding a way to prevent the symptoms or manifestations of that disease.”
Clues to preventing genetic diseases could come from studying people who should have gotten sick but didn’t, suggest Friend, of the Icahn School of Medicine at Mount Sinai in New York City, and colleagues. Finding people like that is a challenge, though, because they don’t have symptoms.

To find such people, the team assembled existing genetic data from 589,306 adults who had their DNA tested as part of 12 ongoing or past studies. The researchers then searched for mutations known to cause genetic diseases in childhood. Since study participants were adults, they should already have developed symptoms.

Initially, the researchers found more than 15,000 potential escape artists. Further analysis whittled the field to 42. Of those, medical records indicated that 14 had symptoms of their genetic disease after all. Another 15 were ruled out because a closer examination found that each person had only one copy of a mutated gene. The other copy was normal, so could compensate for the debilitated copy.

The remaining 13 people carried mutations associated with one of eight different diseases, but somehow had not developed symptoms. The study suggests that it is possible to find people who are resistant to getting genetic diseases.

But some resilient people may have been missed because the study included only a fraction of known disease-causing mutations, says Daniel MacArthur, a geneticist at Massachusetts General Hospital in Boston. More troubling is that the researchers could not confirm that resistant people were disease-free or verify that they really have mutations. That’s because consent forms signed when participants agreed to share their genetic information did not contain provisions for researchers to contact volunteers later for retesting. “Some of their resilient cases may be mirages,” MacArthur wrote in a commentary, also in Nature Biotechnology.
Garry Cutting, a medical geneticist at Johns Hopkins School of Medicine, is also concerned that some of the lucky 13 may not be true escape artists. Cutting studies genes and environmental factors that determine the severity of cystic fibrosis, a disease in which thick mucus builds up in the lungs, pancreas and other organs. People develop the disease when they inherit two defective copies of the CFTR gene. More than 1,800 mutations in that gene can cause the disease if inherited in double copies or in combinations of mutations.

Of the 13 resilient people in the study, three carry dual copies of a very rare mutation in the CFTR gene, but don’t have cystic fibrosis.

Only one person in a database of 88,000 cystic fibrosis patients carries two copies of the rare mutation. So finding three people with double copies of the mutation is extraordinary, Cutting says. “It’s so exceptional that I believe it requires more extensive verification.”

He says he would be “delighted” if the people really turn out to be resistant to getting cystic fibrosis, but he’s puzzled why that mutation alone allows escape. It could be that a variant in another gene counteracts that specific mutation in the CFTR gene. Or a second mutation in the mutant CFTR gene may reverse the effect of the disease-causing one. However, it is possible that the three people avoided cystic fibrosis because they have only one copy of the mutated gene and one healthy copy that the researchers missed with the methods they used, Cutting says.

MacArthur points out another potential drawback to the study: Even if the researchers expand the study to 1 million or more people, they may not discover enough “genetic superheroes” to create a sample size large enough to detect protective genes. Such an effort may require participation from hundreds of millions of people and researchers willing to share data on a global scale.

Three Earth-sized planets orbiting a star practically next-door might be a good place to hunt for alien life — or at least check out some worlds that are different from anything in our solar system.

The planets orbit a dim, cool star just 39 light-years away in the constellation Aquarius. Each is outside or possibly on the edge of the star’s habitable zone — where average temperatures are just right for liquid water. But there could be niche locales on these worlds where alien life might thrive, Michaël Gillon, an astrophysicist at University of Liège in Belgium, and colleagues report online May 2 in Nature.
A year on the two inner planets lasts just a couple of days. Data on the third world are sparse; it could take anywhere between 4.5 and 72.8 days to trek around its sun. The star, designated 2MASS J23062928−0502285, is roughly the size of Jupiter — about one-tenth as wide as our sun — and about 3,200 degrees Celsius cooler than the sun. Such runts make up about 15 percent of the stars in the galaxy, though astronomers had not found planets around one before. All three planets were discovered as periodic dips in starlight in late 2015 using TRAPPIST, a telescope at La Silla Observatory in Chile.

If anything does crawl or grow on these worlds, it bathes in mostly infrared light. The innermost planets receive several times as much energy from their star as Earth does from our sun, which technically puts them outside the star’s habitable zone (SN: 4/30/16, p. 36). But the planets are huddled up so close to the star that gravity might keep them from spinning, creating a temperate zone along the line where day turns to night, the researchers suggest.

Faint red stars such as this one are the best place to look for warm rocky planets, says Nicolas Cowan, an astronomer at McGill University in Montreal. Planets, even small ones, are easier to see around these dim bulbs rather than sunlike stars. NASA’s planet-hunting Kepler space telescope has already shown that planets exist around similar stars, but those are too far away to investigate further. “This [study] finds a nearby example,” says Cowan.

Being nearby is important for studying the atmospheres of such worlds, or learning whether they have atmospheres at all. They may not. Red dwarf stars take a long time to form; planets arise while their sun is still a puffy, temperamental ball of contracting gas. “That might bake off all the water and the atmosphere,” Cowan says. Astronomers won’t know, though, until they point some big telescopes toward these worlds.

The Hubble Space Telescope might be able to get a crude look. But NASA’s James Webb Space Telescope, scheduled to launch in 2018, could gaze at these planets and measure how much starlight is being absorbed by molecules in their atmospheres. If there is an atmosphere, James Webb could look for such gases as oxygen and methane (SN: 4/30/16, p. 32). On Earth, at least, those gases are produced by plants and microbes.

Whether or not life has found a home on these worlds, all offer a peek at unfamiliar environments. The two planets closest to the star, for example, are bombarded with more energy than Venus, notes Lisa Kaltenegger, an astronomer at Cornell University. “How would Venus evolve if you heat it up even more?” she asks. “We don’t have such planets in our own solar system, so it is really interesting to find out what such planets can be like.”

New sperm-catching beads could someday help prevent pregnancy — or enable it.

Researchers created microscopic polymer beads that mimic unfertilized eggs and trap passing sperm. The beads are coated in the sperm-binding section of a protein called ZP2. In mammals, ZP2 is found in membranes around unfertilized eggs; sperm must bind to the protein before entering the egg.

The beads could be used as short-term contraceptives, Jurrien Dean of the National Institutes of Health in Bethesda, Md., and colleagues report in the April 27 Science Translational Medicine. In the laboratory, human sperm attached to the beads within five minutes. The researchers then mixed 100,000 human sperm with 1.5 million beads and 28 mouse eggs containing human ZP2 proteins. After 16 hours, only one sperm reached an egg.
In another experiment, beads coated with mouse ZP2 delayed pregnancy when injected into the uteruses of mating female mice. Bead-free mice took just over 28 days, on average, to conceive and give birth; bead-treated mice didn’t have babies for nearly 73 days on average. The beads didn’t appear to cause swelling or damage, and treated mice were able to give birth again within five months.

The beads could also help combat infertility. In an egg-penetration test, researchers gently detached bead-captured sperm and pitted those sperm against a control batch of sperm that had not been exposed to the beads. More than half of eggs (mouse eggs with human ZP2) exposed to the bead-selected sperm ended up with three or more sperm attached to them; none of the eggs exposed to the control group snagged three or more sperm. In fact, the control group failed to penetrate 38 out of 50 eggs. So the beads could someday be used to select healthy sperm for assisted reproduction, the researchers say.

But it’s not clear if the ability to bind to ZP2 necessarily indicates a healthy sperm, says Andrew La Barbera, chief scientific officer of the American Society for Reproductive Medicine in Birmingham, Ala. “Sperm selection is a very complex undertaking because of the fact that sperm are very complex,” he says. “We don’t know what makes a good sperm.”

Contraception might be a more reasonable future use for the beads, although allowing fertilization of one in 28 eggs is underwhelming, La Barbera says. Birth control should be closer to 99.9 percent effective. “It only takes one sperm to fertilize an egg,” he says. Still, the beads’ performance at blocking pregnancy in mice seems promising, La Barbera says. Future experiments would need to determine if the beads are safe and effective in women, and how many beads are needed to prevent conception.

Dean notes that the study is a proof of principle. Many unknowns must be evaluated before using the beads for birth control, including the side effects of long-term use, he says. “Although promising, we are a long way from translating these basic laboratory observations into useful clinical applications that provide people with better reproductive choices.”

During the rainy season in the Orinoco Llanos of Columbia and Venezuela, an odd landscape feature appears in places: mounds of grassy plants, as big as five meters across and two meters tall, surrounded by water. Traversing this landscape, called surales, requires either hopping from mound to mound or trudging through the boggy bits in between.

Locals and scientists have generally agreed that some kind of earthworm creates the mounds, but what species and how it does so has been a mystery. Now Anne Zangerlé of the Braunschweig University of Technology in Germany and colleagues report that they’ve found the culprit — giant Andiorrhinus earthworms, which can grow to a meter in length as juveniles. And the mounds themselves, the team reports May 11 in PLOS ONE, are actually made mostly of earthworm poop.

Zangerlé and her colleagues used Google Earth images to locate surales landscapes, finding that they come in the shape of both mounds and labyrinths. Leaving the complex labyrinths for a future study, the team studied the mounds and the lands on which they were found in both the rainy and dry seasons. They characterized the soil and the plants and worms living in and on the mounds. And then they pieced all of that information together to come up with a scenario that they think explains the construction of the mounds.
Andiorrhinus earthworms deposit feces, or casts, in towers that give the worms access to the air so they can breathe. The worms then return to the tower, depositing more and more material, building the tower into a mound. These young mounds, the researchers found, are dominated by Andiorrhinus earthworms. But over time, as the mounds get even bigger, other worm species begin to make their home there, as well as plants and, eventually, if the mounds get big enough, trees.

The Andiorrhinus earthworms tend to stay around the same mound because, as they build, they excavate soil from the region around the mound. That moat gets deeper and deeper until it becomes a barrier to the giant earthworm that created it.

The researchers don’t quite understand everything that is happening in the system. For example, there could be an as-yet-unknown end stage to mound development, or some kind of equilibrium state for the landscape. But they note that “these ecosystems are under threat from industrial agriculture, and are being leveled to make way for highly intensified commercial production of rice.” Because of that, they say, there is a risk that these wonderfully complex and mysterious systems could disappear before anyone fully understands what made them in the first place.

Earth’s plate tectonics could be a passing phase. After simulating rock and heat flow throughout a planet’s lifetime, researchers have proposed that plate tectonics is just one stage of a planet’s life cycle.

In the simulation, the Earth’s interior was too hot and runny at first to push around the giant chunks of crust, researchers report in the June Physics of the Earth and Planetary Interiors. After the interior cooled for around 400 million years, tectonic plates began shifting and sinking, though the process was stop-and-go for about 2 billion years. The simulation suggests that Earth now is nearly halfway through its tectonic life cycle, says study coauthor Craig O’Neill, a planetary scientist at Macquarie University in Sydney. In around 5 billion years, plate tectonics will grind to a halt as the planet chills.

The long delay before full-blown plate tectonics hints that the process could one day begin on currently stagnant planets, says Julian Lowman, a geodynamicist at the University of Toronto who was not involved in the research. “There is a possibility that plate tectonics could start up on Venus if conditions were right,” he says.
Plate tectonics regulates a planet’s climate by adding and removing carbon dioxide from the atmosphere. This climate control helps maintain Earth’s habitability. Plate movement is driven by heat flow through the planet’s interior. Simulating that heat flow requires complex calculations. Previous simulations were simplified and typically considered only snapshots of Earth’s history and missed how plate tectonics evolves over time.

O’Neill and colleagues simulated Earth’s full tectonic life span, starting with the planet’s formation around 4.5 billion years ago and looking ahead to around 10 billion years in the future. Even using a supercomputer and simulating only a two-dimensional cross section of the planet, the calculations took weeks.

The new timeline suggests that Earth’s plate tectonics is just a midpoint in the planet’s evolution between two stagnant states. Planets with different starting temperatures than Earth’s follow different trajectories, the team found. Colder planets may exhibit plate tectonics throughout their history while hotter planets could go for billions of years without plate tectonics.

Just because a planet currently lacks plate tectonics doesn’t make it uninhabitable, O’Neill says. Life potentially appeared on Earth as early as around 4.1 billion years ago (SN Online: 10/19/2015), a time when the new simulation suggests that Earth lacked full-blown plate tectonics. “Stagnant planets, depending on when they are in their history, can be equally likely of supporting habitable conditions” as planets with plate tectonics, O’Neill says.

The first, tiny root that emerges from a baby plant can make it or break it.

Anchor to a good patch of ground, and the plant can thrive for decades. Set up someplace else, without enough water or sunshine, and all may be lost.

The odds of a single rootlet mooring itself to just the right spot of soil are more than a million to one, writes geobiologist Hope Jahren. “The gamble is everything, and losing means death.”
Jahren touches only briefly on the plight of the newborn root, just a page or so near the beginning of her new book, Lab Girl, but it’s enough to bring drama to a topic not usually considered all that thrilling. Jahren’s great skill, here and throughout the book, is making readers care — to root for the root, in this case.

In Lab Girl — which is part memoir, part plant love story — each cactus, tree and leaf gets the same empathetic treatment. Jahren doesn’t so much spice up plant life as she does reveal it — histories, triumphs, tragedies and all — to those who might not have been paying close enough attention.

But this isn’t just a book for botanists. Or science geeks. Or lovers of nonfiction. This is a book for anyone who has stayed up late with a flashlight beneath the covers, vowing to finish just one last chapter.

Interspersed between snippets about plants, Jahren puts her own life under the microscope, baring gritty details about her struggles with bipolar disorder (she had to go off her medications during pregnancy) and as a woman desperately scrambling to eke out a career in science. She’s made it now, and is currently at the University of Hawaii at Manoa in Honolulu, studying, among other things, how carbon in fossilized plants can reveal information about ancient climates.

But the book’s lifeblood, or xylem and phloem, if you will, are Jahren’s stories from her early days as a scientist. For Jahren, and her long-term scientific partner in crime, an otherworldly character named Bill Hagopian (he once lived in a hole he dug in his parents’ yard), life is a series of adventures. The duo crisscross the country for scientific meetings, take students on madcap road trips and regularly pull all-nighters in the lab.
Though Jahren and Hagopian often end up in exotic places (an island in the Arctic Ocean or Miami’s Monkey Jungle, among other places), Jahren somehow makes the everyday tasks of lab work thrilling, too. And through it all, she pauses to tell the untold stories of plants — to consider life’s wonders from a plant’s point of view.

Vines, for instance, “do not play by the rules of the forest,” she writes. They steal light and water, and will climb over anything in their paths to do so. And trees, scientists have discovered, can actually “remember” their childhood.

In the epilog, Jahren eases the reader back to the reality we know. “Plants are not like us,” she writes. “They are beings we can never truly understand.”

But anyone who reads Lab Girl will know that can’t be true. Because for nearly 300 pages, Jahren has made us feel like we can.

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Nothing conquers a slippery slope like a good twitch of the tail, say researchers exploring how vertebrates could have taken the first treacherous steps on land.

When early vertebrates invaded land 360 million years or more ago, their tails might have been critical in helping them climb sloping sand or mud, suggests physicist Daniel Goldman of Georgia Tech in Atlanta. These surfaces can suddenly shift from a solid heap to a flowing slide that sends climbers slipping and flailing. Using a tail the right way in a hop-swing kind of gait, however, lets little fish called mudskippers and a dune-invader robot get going on slippery slopes, Goldman and an interdisciplinary team report in the July 8 Science. It’s the latest in research on how animals and robots can cope with treacherous surfaces.
With a well-timed tail push, “you can then get away with pretty crummy limb use and still get propulsion,” Goldman says. A pioneering land vertebrate didn’t “have to be a ballet dancer.”

Studying the function of tails among these early vertebrates hasn’t been simple, partly because of a poor fossil record. Paleontologists have found relatively few complete tail fossils from the transitional creatures, says Stephanie Pierce, curator of vertebrate paleontology at Harvard University’s Museum of Comparative Zoology. She and her colleagues have proposed that an early land invader called Ichthyostega moved right and left forelimbs forward together, similar to how a person on crutches sweeps the supports forward in unison. So “crutching,” as it’s called, may have been a form of tetrapod movement.

Among modern species, little bulging-eyed, big-tailed fish called mudskippers crutch along somewhat like this on their front flippers when venturing onto dry land. Goldman has studied snake and turtle motions on challenging, sometimes solid, sometimes flowing surfaces like sand. His lab joined forces with mudskipper biologists to see how animals with a crutching gait could cope with changeable materials. On flat surfaces, mudskippers hardly ever do anything special with their tails. On sand tilted up 20 degrees, however, the fish added a tail push with almost every other step, the researchers found.

To analyze the contribution of that tail push, Goldman and colleagues sent a two-limbed robot with a movable tail up slopes of plastic particles or poppy seeds. (Sand is dangerous for robot parts.) Positioning the tail to one side and then pushing with it at just the right moment was “critical” on the 20-degree slope, Goldman says. With no tail power, the robot often just dug itself into a hole.
For the research robot, a tail assist “sounds like a very simple maneuver, but to really explain why that works so well on sandy slopes is not trivial,” Goldman says. The interdisciplinary team came up with a way of mathematically analyzing the first step of the climb. “The amount of physics on the second step is much more terrible to contemplate,” he says.

Translating that first step for the robot into tetrapod terms could take some thought. Pierce, for instance, points out that Ichthyostega had two big hind limbs that don’t look useful for powering steps but might have provided stability on challenging ground in some taillike way.

The few sets of preserved footprints from early vertebrates foraying onto or colonizing land don’t show signs of tail drags at all, Goldman acknowledges. However, evolutionary biomechanist John Hutchinson of Royal Veterinary College of the University of London notes that “that’s a very small sample.” If tails are useful mostly on slopes, the signs have slumped away without leaving traces in the fossil record.

Genetically modified mosquitoes can put a dent in dengue cases. The first evidence of the health effects of releasing the insects into the real world comes from a year’s worth of disease data from Brazil, says biotech company Oxitec, the mosquitoes’ engineer.

Over much of the city of Piracicaba, where conventional methods of mosquito control were used, cases of the debilitating virus dropped 52 percent from mid-2015 to mid-2016. But in neighborhoods where Oxitec released GM Aedes aegypti mosquitoes as an extra control, the results were even better. Dengue cases there dropped 91 percent, from 133 to 12, according to a press statement from Oxitec, based in Abingdon, England.
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Oxitec’s genetically modified line of Ae. aegypti mosquitoes attack a wild population by romantic deception. The GM males sire offspring with built-in self-destruct DNA that kills the new generation off in the wild before they begin to bite. This is the modern biotech twist on a decades-old strategy for controlling insects by releasing sterile males in such numbers that many females waste their reproductive effort, and a population eventually breeds itself out of existence.

In tests around the world before this, Oxitec has published or released evidence that mosquito numbers go down when the GM decoys swarm through a neighborhood. But this is the first claim that reducing those mosquitoes indeed means less disease.
That information — though not the result of a full epidemiological study — could address a gap in the debate in the Florida Keys over a proposed test release there. Opponents of introducing GM organisms, even ones pretty reliably programmed to die, have objected that there has been no evidence the measure brings any health benefit.

Brazil, where dengue and now Zika have wreaked havoc, has been much more open to the use of GM mosquitoes. In this case, Oxitec looked at the numbers of dengue cases reported mid-year to mid-year from Piracicaba’s epidemiologic surveillance program. The GM mosquito test focused on an area, called CECAP/Eldorado, of about 5,000 residents where the dengue rates were higher than in the rest of the city in 2014‒2015 — 2.66 percent incidence rate versus 0.902 percent. After a year of control measures including releasing the GM mosquitoes, the 2015‒2016 numbers show the test area now fares better than the rest of the city. Its dengue incident rate dropped to 0.24 percent compared with the municipality incidence rate of 0.437 percent.

Data on mosquito populations and diseases are rare and important, says Grayson Brown, who directs the Public Health Entomology lab at the University of Kentucky in Lexington. He wonders how far down the GM mosquitoes drove the wild population before dengue rates started dropping. (Oxitec reports that mosquito numbers dropped 82 percent, but, Brown asks, 82 percent of what?) Such a useful number turns out to be virtually unknown for most mosquito-borne diseases and their countermeasures, except for malaria, he says. Plenty of programs monitor disease outbreaks as they treat mosquitoes, but ethically and politically, “you can’t just leave a section of the city untreated.” Adding the extra measure of the GM treatments offers a way to fill that data gap.

Four and a half billion years ago, after Earth’s fiery birth, the infant planet began to radically reshape itself, separating into distinct layers. Metals — mostly iron with a bit of nickel — fell toward the center to form a core. The growing core also vacuumed up other metallic elements, such as platinum, iridium and gold.

By the time the core finished forming, about 30 million years later, it had sequestered more than 98 percent of these precious elements. The outer layers of the planet — the mantle and the crust — had barely any platinum and gold left. That’s why these metals are so rare today.
Battles have been fought, and wars won, over the pull of shiny precious metals, which have long symbolized power and influence. But for scientists, the rare metals’ lure is less about their shimmering beauty than about the powerful stories they can tell about how the Earth, the moon and other planetary bodies formed and evolved.

By analyzing rare primordial materials, researchers are uncovering geochemical fingerprints that have survived essentially unchanged over billions of years. These fingerprints allow scientists to compare Earth rocks with moon rocks and test ideas about whether giant meteorites once dusted the inner solar system with extraterrestrial platinum and gold. Such research can help scientists learn how volatiles such as water may have spread, leaving some worlds water-rich and others bone-dry.

These explorations, motivated by a growing appreciation of what such rare metals reveal about Earth’s history, are now possible thanks to new analytical techniques. “They give us a window into all kinds of processes that we want to understand,” says Richard Walker, a geochemist at the University of Maryland in College Park.

Geochemical memory
Platinum and gold are among eight occupants of the periodic table belonging to the category known as the highly siderophile elements. That name dates back to the 1920s, when Victor Goldschmidt, a mineralogist at the University of Oslo, divided the elements into groups depending on what they liked to combine with in nature. His four classifications are still used today: the lithophiles (rock-lovers), the chalcophiles (ore- or sulfur-lovers), the atmophiles (gas-lovers) and siderophiles, the iron-lovers.

The siderophile elements tend not to ally themselves with the oxygen- and silicon-based compounds that form the bulk of Earth’s crust. They form dense alloys with iron instead. One such element, tungsten (symbolized by W in the periodic table), is an iron-lover that has been important in recent scientific studies of Earth’s geologic history. A step beyond tungsten are those highly siderophile elements, which are even bigger fans of iron. They are ruthenium, rhodium, palladium, rhenium, osmium and iridium along with platinum and gold.

Because highly siderophile elements are relatively abundant in the core and scarce in the mantle and crust, they help scientists trace how Earth’s insides have evolved over time. Dig up a rock from deep within a mine, or pick up one from a freshly erupted volcano, and you can measure the siderophile elements within. The measurements might show whether a radioactive version of one such element has decayed into another, or whether the rock has higher amounts of one particular variety of siderophile. In turn, that information can reveal how material has shifted around and been chemically processed deep within the planet.
By analyzing the iron-lovers within each rock, scientists can probe what the rock has been doing for billions of years. “We can trace the entire evolutionary process of how a planet formed,” says James Day, a geochemist at the Scripps Institution of Oceanography in La Jolla, Calif. “That’s why someone like me is interested.”

For instance, Walker and his colleagues have explored siderophile elements in some of the oldest rocks on Earth. Through the process of plate tectonics, in which plates of Earth’s crust grind against, pull apart from and occasionally dive beneath one another, most ancient rocks have been dragged back into the planet and destroyed by melting. But in southwestern Greenland, in a place called Isua, a chunk of ancient crust never got pulled down by plate tectonics (SN: 3/24/07, p. 179). Walker and colleagues, led by Hanika Rizo of the University of Quebec in Montreal, recently studied siderophile elements in these 3.3-billion- to 3.8-billion-year-old rocks.

The scientists looked at the abundance of highly siderophile elements in the Greenland rocks but found that, in this case, the biggest clues came from the slightly less iron-loving tungsten. The rocks contain more of one variety of tungsten, known as tungsten-182, than expected. That isotope forms from the radioactive decay of hafnium-182, which existed only during Earth’s first 50 million years. The Greenland rocks thus serve as a sort of time capsule that helps reveal the history of the early solar system, Rizo, Walker and colleagues wrote in February in Geochimica et Cosmochimica Acta.

“We believe we are accessing parts of Earth’s mantle that formed and took on some of their chemical characteristics while the Earth was still growing,” Walker says. “You can call it accessing a building block of the Earth.”

Studies of these remnants of the ancient planet suggest that Earth’s mantle has remained chemically patchy. Like lumps of flour in poorly mixed cake batter, clumps of primordial material, with higher amounts of tungsten-182, are studded throughout a smoother, more evenly mixed matrix. That’s surprising because researchers thought that the hot, churning insides of the Earth would have stirred everything around over the course of billions of years. Somehow portions of the mantle resisted the planet’s best blending efforts, Walker reported in June at the Goldschmidt geochemistry meeting in Yokohama, Japan.

By studying where those patches are and what they are made of, researchers can investigate such questions as how much convection there was inside the early Earth, and whether any volcanoes today tap into this primordial material. In May, for instance, Walker’s team reported that it had used siderophile elements to identify geochemically primitive lavas in Canada’s Baffin Bay and in the South Pacific (SN: 6/11/16, p. 13).
Like the ancient Greenland crust, these rocks also had an overabundance of tungsten-182. Apparently the Canadian and Pacific volcanoes tapped into a deep reservoir of primordial material, which flowed up through the throat of a volcano and out onto the surface. Studying the iron-loving elements in those rocks is like taking a siderophile time machine into the past and seeing what the Earth was like 4.5 billion years ago.

“It never ceases to amaze me what the rocks can tell,” says Amy Riches, a geochemist at Durham University in England.

A dusting from space
Highly siderophile elements can teach about more than just the planet Earth. They can reveal secrets about the history of the moon, Mars and other nearby planetary bodies. That’s because all the worlds in the inner solar system apparently got a dusting of gold, platinum and other highly siderophile elements during meteorite bombardments around 4 billion years ago.

The early solar system was something of a cosmic shooting gallery. After the planets coalesced, there were still a lot of leftover space rocks careening around. One enormous impact is thought to have smashed the Earth and spalled off enough debris to form the moon. Other, smaller impacts continued to pummel the inner planets for the first half-billion years or so of their existence. Each collision would have brought a little more fresh material to each world.

On Earth, meteorite impacts could have delivered half a percent to 1 percent of the planet’s total mass. Many meteorites that fall to Earth and are analyzed contain relatively high amounts of highly siderophile elements, which suggests that meteorites hitting the early Earth would have carried a lot of them, too. If so, then the cosmic smashups regularly showered Earth with a fresh coating of gold, platinum and other precious elements. By this time, Earth had already finished forming its core, so the highly siderophile elements remained sprinkled throughout its upper layers rather than being vacuumed into its depths.

This “late accretion” of fresh material could help explain a long-standing puzzle. The amounts of highly siderophile elements in Earth’s mantle are higher than predicted, according to laboratory experiments that try to mimic how molten metal separated from rock as Earth was forming. But a shower of meteorites hitting soon after core formation stopped could have done the trick, a process that Day, Walker and Alan Brandon of the University of Houston discuss in the January Reviews in Mineralogy & Geochemistry.
Not everyone accepts the late accretion idea. Some scientists, including Kevin Righter at NASA’s Johnson Space Center in Houston, note that siderophile elements become less iron-loving when squeezed at high pressures and temperatures. That could mean fewer of them dived deep into Earth’s core, and more of them would be left behind for the mantle and the crust. No need for an express meteorite delivery.

Debate probably won’t end anytime soon, as various laboratory experiments seem to support both conclusions. “People are still hacking away at trying to understand this,” says James Brenan, a geochemist at Dalhousie University in Halifax, Canada. Clarity is important for getting to the heart of what the highly siderophile elements can tell scientists — where they came from, how they separated out within the primordial Earth, and what they have been doing since then.

Less precious moon
Another big unanswered question is why the Earth and the moon seem to be so different from each other when it comes to highly siderophile elements.

Researchers have a very limited sample of moon rocks to study — just those brought back by the Apollo astronauts, and a few lunar meteorites that happened to fall on Earth and were picked up. None of these samples come from the moon’s deep interior. But by extrapolating from the chemistry of the rocks they have in hand, researchers have calculated that the moon’s mantle has surprisingly lower amounts of the highly siderophile elements than Earth’s mantle — just about 2 percent as much.

If the late-accretion idea is right, then both Earth and the moon should have been dusted by the same meteoritic bombardment of gold, platinum and other elements, and they should have similar amounts of highly siderophile elements in their mantles. That doesn’t seem to be the case. The explanation may lie partly in the fact that the moon is a lot smaller than the Earth, Day and Walker noted last year in Earth and Planetary Science Letters.

Think of the meteorite bombardment as someone throwing snowballs at a pair of very different-sized dogs, Day says. “The statistical chance of these snowballs colliding with a Rottweiler are much higher than with a Chihuahua,” he says. In other words, Earth acquired more platinum and gold simply because it is so much larger than the moon. Both went through the same snowball bombardment, but the bigger object collected more snow coating.

As with most things geochemical, there is another possible explanation. The moon does not have a core that would have sucked highly siderophile elements into its interior. But it’s possible that something else could be holding the gold and platinum deep within the moon, Brenan says. That something is sulfur.

The iron-lovers are also sulfur-likers. In the absence of metal, highly siderophile elements tend to clump with sulfur instead. By studying the interplay between the two, geochemists can start to tease out how the various elements behave as rocks are squeezed, melted and otherwise altered over billions of years of geologic history.

In recent laboratory experiments, Brenan mixed up a recipe of rock meant to simulate the lunar mantle. Earlier work had suggested that there was simply not enough sulfur deep in the moon for iron sulfide to be present. But his work, which used a more realistic representation of the lunar mantle, suggests that iron sulfide can indeed exist and be stable there. That iron sulfide would have kept the iron-lovers deep inside the moon — trapping the highly siderophile elements out of sight.
The sulfur work may have even broader implications for understanding how the Earth, moon and other worlds in the inner solar system got their water. Both sulfur and water are relatively volatile compounds that often appear together. Researchers thought both had been lost from the moon long ago. After all, the lunar surface today is dry and barren. But in recent years, scientists have been analyzing droplets of melt in lunar rocks and have found surprisingly high amounts of sulfur and water. That indicates that the moon may once have been wetter than thought. “That has really changed our thinking,” Brenan says.

By looking at the concentration of these elements in lunar rocks, geochemists can cross-check their measurements of sulfur and water — and begin to understand the differences between Earth and the moon.

Still searching
At the University of Münster in Germany, geochemist Mario Fischer-Gödde has been working to pull together the various threads of what highly siderophile elements can reveal. Many researchers have suggested that Earth may have gotten much of its water and other volatile elements during the meteorite bombardment of the late accretion. So Fischer-Gödde is systematically analyzing different types of meteorites found on Earth to see if they could have actually delivered these volatiles.

He focuses on the element ruthenium. Like the other highly siderophile elements, it probably arrived on Earth aboard meteorites during the late accretion. Weirdly, though, none of the dozens of meteorites Fischer-Gödde has analyzed contain ruthenium isotopes that match those found in the mantle. He concludes that none of the meteorite types found on Earth so far could be the source of the late accretion materials. Some other source — maybe other rocky bits that were flying around the inner solar system — must have brought ruthenium and other siderophiles to Earth, he reported at the Durham workshop.

And that means the highly siderophile elements still have many mysteries to reveal, and there’s plenty of work to be done. With new ever-more-sensitive techniques under development — such as scans that reveal individual atoms of highly siderophile elements within small grains of metal — researchers are pushing forward in their efforts to analyze the siderophile elements, hoping to squeeze more stories of Earth’s beginning from the discreet iron-lovers.

Alcoholism may stem from using genes incorrectly, a study of hard-drinking rats suggests.

Rats bred either to drink heavily or to shun alcohol have revealed 930 genes linked to a preference for drinking alcohol, researchers in Indiana report August 4 in PLOS Genetics.

Human genetic studies have not found most of the genetic variants that put people at risk for alcoholism, says Michael Miles, a neurogenomicist at Virginia Commonwealth University in Richmond. The new study takes a “significant and somewhat novel approach” to find the genetic differences that separate those who will become addicted to alcohol from those who drink in moderation.
It took decades to craft the experiment, says study coauthor William Muir, a population geneticist at Purdue University in West Lafayette, Ind. Starting in the 1980s, rats bred at Indiana University School of Medicine in Indianapolis were given a choice to drink pure water or water mixed with 10 percent ethanol, about the same amount of alcohol as in a weak wine. For more than 40 generations, researchers selected rats from each generation that voluntarily drank the most alcohol and bred them to create a line of rats that consume the rat equivalent of 25 cans of beer a day. Simultaneously, the researchers also selected rats that drank the least alcohol and bred them to make a line of low-drinking rats. A concurrent breeding program produced another line of high-drinking and teetotaling rats.

For the new study, Muir and colleagues collected DNA from 10 rats from each of the high- and low-drinking lines. Comparing complete sets of genetic instructions from all the rats identified 930 genes that differ between the two lines.

Such a large number of genes, “shows how complex the genetic underpinnings of the drive to consume alcohol might be,” says Miles.

Often, human genetic studies known as genome-wide association studies, or GWAS, can’t determine which of many genes in a particular region of DNA is involved in a disease or addiction. But the Indiana researchers’ DNA data allowed them to pinpoint the exact genetic tweaks implicated in the rats’ drinking. “With GWAS, they’re just trying to get down to the gene — we’ve got it down to the parts of the genes,” Muir says.

That precision “is clearly an advance,” says John Crabbe, a neuroscientist at the Portland VA Medical Center in Oregon. “No one has gone into this much detail before in any alcohol-related trait.”
Most of the time, the genetic variant associated with drinking behavior wasn’t located within the part of the gene containing blueprints for a protein, the researchers discovered. Only four genes contained variants in their protein-producing parts. The majority of the differences were in surrounding DNA that regulates gene activity. Those changes could alter how much protein is produced from the genes, says study coauthor Feng Zhou, a neurobiologist at Indiana University School of Medicine. In turn, altering amounts of proteins could shift biochemical reactions important for determining behavior.

Until recently, scientists thought alcoholism and other problems stemmed from inheriting altered forms of genes that would produce faulty proteins. “Well, that game’s over,” says Crabbe. Now researchers realize that regulating gene activity is often just as important as changing the genes themselves.

The researchers don’t yet know whether the genes identified in the rats are the same ones that lead to drinking problems in people.