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.
Childhood fears are common, normal — Some behavior, such as nail biting, bed-wetting and fearfulness, may actually represent a temporary phase in normal development…. A most important finding [in a recent study] was that the fearful or anxious children, defined … as those with seven or more worries, did not seem to be in any particular psychological trouble.…Anxieties may be part of normal child development. — Science News, June 25, 1966
UPDATE Actually, there is reason to worry about anxious children. Kids with anxiety disorders, depression or behavioral problems are especially likely to develop a range of difficulties as young adults, say researchers who conducted a long-term study published in 2015. The same goes for kids whose anxiety, mood or behavior issues cause daily problems but don’t qualify as psychiatric ailments. Problems that later dogged the study’s troubled youngsters, who grew up in rural North Carolina, included drug addiction, teenage parenthood, dropping out of high school and criminal arrests.
A mosquito’s spit can be worse than its bite alone. In some cases, the insect’s saliva makes the viral disease dengue fever more severe, a new study finds.
In mice, scientists found that mosquito spit weakened blood vessels, making them more permeable, or “leaky.” Easier exchange between the blood and tissues may help the virus spread faster — and increase the severity of disease — immunologist Michael Schmid and colleagues report online June 16 in PLOS Pathogens.
Dengue virus enters the bloodstreams of nearly 400 million people a year, through the sharp proboscises of tropical Aedes mosquitoes, which also deliver a spit-load of other molecules as they slurp a meal. There are four strains of dengue, which can cause bone and muscle aches, high fever and, in severe cases, death. Overcoming one type of dengue doesn’t protect the host from the other three strains. In fact, subsequent infections are often worse (SN: 6/15/16, p. 22).
Immune cells fight off the first dengue infection, and the body develops antibodies to that strain. But during a subsequent episode with a different variety of dengue, the antibodies from the first infection don’t kill the second — they amplify it. They pull new virus into healthy cells.
Scientists have studied this strange immune trap for three decades, “but what we didn’t know was that saliva could exacerbate it,” says Schmid, now at the University of Leuven in Belgium. Investigating spit is important, says virologist Eva Harris of the University of California, Berkeley, a coauthor of the study. Molecules in mosquito saliva “can modify and modulate the infection process,” she says. Saliva’s role is well-studied in other viral diseases, like West Nile, but not for dengue.
Schmid’s team inoculated mice either with virus, saliva, or both virus and saliva, during primary and secondary dengue infections. In primary infections, the severity of the disease did not differ substantially between treatments. Symptoms were mild, at most. But in secondary infections, the combination of virus and saliva was lethal to more than half of the mouse population. Without the saliva, mortality was much lower.
To understand why, the researchers ran experiments to track viral spread through the circulatory system. In mouse ears, a molecule about the size of the dengue virus moved farther, and faster, when packaged with mosquito spit. And in the lab, human endothelial cells lining the inner walls of blood vessels sealed less tightly in the presence of Aedes saliva. The researchers also found that mice inoculated with virus alone could be rescued if the skin around the injection site was removed four hours later. The same procedure did not rescue mice dosed with virus and saliva.
These results should be interpreted with caution, says Duane Gubler, an infectious disease researcher at Duke University who was not involved in the study. Various environmental and genetic factors also play a role in the severity of the disease. “It’s not clear-cut,” he 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.
Buy Lab Girl from Amazon.com. Sales generated through the links to Amazon.com contribute to Society for Science & the Public’s programs.
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. SUBSCRIBE 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.
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.
Understanding sea anemones’ exceptional healing abilities may help scientists figure out how to restore hearing.
Proteins that the marine invertebrates use to repair damaged cells can also repair mice’s sound-sensing cells, a new study shows. The findings provide insights into the mechanics of hearing and could lead to future treatments for traumatic hearing loss, researchers report in the Aug. 1 Journal of Experimental Biology.
“This is a preliminary step, but it’s a very useful step in looking at restoring the structure and function of these damaged cells,” says Lavinia Sheets, a hearing researcher at Harvard Medical School who was not involved in the study. Tentacles of starlet sea anemones (Nematostella vectensis) are covered in tiny hairlike cells that sense vibrations in the water from prey swimming nearby. The cells are similar to sound-sensing cells found in the ears of humans and other mammals. When loud noises damage or kill these hair cells, the result can range from temporary to permanent hearing loss.
Anemones’ repair proteins restore their damaged hairlike cells, but landlubbing creatures aren’t as lucky. Glen Watson, a biologist at the University of Louisiana at Lafayette, wondered if anemones’ proteins — which have previously been shown to mend similar cells in blind cave fish — might also work in mammals.
Watson and colleagues mimicked traumatic hearing loss in mice hair cells by depriving them of calcium ions, which are crucial for maintaining cell structure and transmitting sounds. Within a few hours, the normally stiff, hairlike structures that detect sound “looked like spaghetti,” he says. Researchers bathed the damaged hair cells in a cocktail of anemone repair proteins. After an hour, the cells showed remarkable improvement compared with untreated cells. Proteins rebuilt molecular tethers that bundle hair cells and act as gatekeepers for calcium ions. As a result, the cells absorbed more fluorescent dye — an indication of how well calcium flows into the cells.
What’s more, researchers identified a bevy of mice proteins that are analogs of anemones’ repair proteins. But mammalian versions work less effectively than anemone proteins, if at all. More research could point the way to one day harnessing human repair proteins, Sheets says.
Moving forward, Watson plans to investigate the ability of the anemones’ proteins to repair damaged cells in the ears of living mice. “If we could get to those hair cells before they commit to die and treat them, there’s a possibility we could reduce hearing loss,” he says.
A radio signal detected last year has sparked speculation that an advanced alien civilization is broadcasting from a relatively nearby planet. But recent scans have turned up nothing, suggesting the blip was a false alarm and nothing more than earthly interference.
In May 2015, astronomers detected a blast of radio waves coming from the direction of HD 164595, a sunlike star about 94 light-years away in the constellation Hercules. The signal, reported online August 27 on the blog Centauri Dreams, lasted just a few seconds and reached a peak power of about 750 millijansky — fairly strong by radio astronomy standards (1 jansky equals 10-26 watts per square meter per hertz). The researchers aren’t claiming that they found E.T., but they are asking other astronomers to monitor the star — home to a planet at least 16 times as massive as Earth — in case the signal repeats. So far, all is quiet.
Scientists with the SETI Institute, whose mission is to seek out signs of extraterrestrial intelligence, turned the Green Bank Telescope in West Virginia toward HD 164595 on August 28 to scan for signals. “There was nothing there,” says Dan Werthimer, a SETI astronomer at the University of California, Berkeley. The original claim, however, “is consistent with someone pushing the button on a CB radio for a couple of seconds.”
Radio telescopes have to contend with interference from the civilization on this planet before picking out transmissions from our galactic neighbors. Earth-based satellites, power lines and cellphones all emit radio waves that can overwhelm cosmic signals. One type of radio chirp whose origin had eluded astronomers for years recently turned out to be coming from microwave ovens, a fact discovered when researchers at the Parkes observatory in Australia who were tracking the signal prematurely opened an oven door without waiting for the ding signal (SN: 5/16/15, p. 5).
“We see strong signals like this all the time,” says Werthimer. With enough information, such as frequency and location, researchers can usually figure out the cause of an incoming signal. But this latest finding, recorded at the RATAN-600 radio observatory near the Caucasus Mountains in Russia, is missing a lot of details that could help astronomers assess its origin. Without precise frequency measurements or statistics on how often the observatory detects comparable events, says Werthimer, it’s hard to tell how unusual this signal is.
The signal was detected around a frequency of 11 gigahertz. That suggests interference from telecommunication devices, says Italian astronomer Claudio Maccone, who was part of the discovery team. “This is precisely why many countries have to watch the star with different technologies,” he says. “By comparing results, we may be able to find the answer.” The long delay in sharing the results, he says, comes from a reluctance among his Russian colleagues to interact with Western researchers. “They are a closed community,” he says. “It’s an unfortunate circumstance.” The team will present the findings September 27 at a meeting of the International Academy of Astronautics in Guadalajara, Mexico. If the signal didn’t originate on Earth, there are also plenty of natural cosmic sources. Jean Schneider, an astrophysicist at the Paris Observatory in Meudon, France, contends that a gravitational microlens might be responsible. Gravity from an object, such as a star or planet, can temporarily amplify light — including radio waves — received on Earth from other more distant bodies that the interloper passes in front of. Testing that idea would require meticulously tracking the movement of stars that lie in the direction of the radio signal, says Schneider, and seeing if anything could have lined up on the day of the detection.
The discovery is reminiscent of an infamous — and still unexplained — detection known as the “Wow!” signal, named after what astronomer Jerry Ehman wrote on a printout of the signal. Detected in 1977 at the Big Ear radio telescope in Delaware, Ohio, the Wow! signal was at least 70 times as powerful as the one at RATAN-600, lasted for about 72 seconds and appeared to originate in the constellation Sagittarius. Many ideas have been put forth about the signal’s origin, including comets in our solar system, Earth-orbiting space debris and, of course, extraterrestrials.
If aliens do reside around HD 164595, and they are trying to get our attention, they could do so with precisely aimed transmitters no more powerful than anything on Earth, Werthimer says. But if we eavesdropped on a signal that was blasting in all directions into space, then our neighbors are far more advanced than us; such a device would require tapping into the entire power output of their sun.
Anna Frebel can’t explain her fascination with the stars. It’d be like explaining why “berry purple-pink” is one of her favorite colors. “They are just a part of me,” says Frebel, an astronomer at MIT. “What’s going on with them and what they can tell us — there is something magical.”
Frebel’s fascination has led to the discovery of at least three record-breaking stars. Dating back roughly 13 billion years, the stars — all within the Milky Way galaxy — might be elders from the second generation of stars ever formed in the universe. She has also found that one of the tiny galaxies flitting around outside the Milky Way might be a fossil that has survived from not long after the Big Bang. The light from these ancient relics encodes stories about the birth of the first stars, the assembling of galaxies and the origin of elements essential to creating planets and life as we know i “Anna has a really good track record of finding these amazing things,” says Alexander Ji, one of the three graduate students Frebel mentors at MIT. “She’s always finding things that change our understanding of the universe.” As a young girl living in Germany, Frebel wanted to be an astronaut, but she passed on that dream when she learned about the centrifuge that whips trainees around to simulate launch acceleration. Not for her. She instead studied physics and astronomy, first at the University of Freiburg in Germany and then at the Australian National University in Canberra. Since then, Frebel, now 36, has earned a reputation as a “stellar archaeologist,” with the patience and perseverance to search through the universe’s most ancient debris.
Only someone with a galaxy’s worth of patience could sift through the tiny rainbows of light, the spectra, produced by thousands of stars, handpicking the specimens that might preserve clues to the conditions shortly after the first stars lit up the universe. And only a persistent person would spend more than two years pointing Australia’s 2.3-meter-wide Advanced Technology Telescope at 1,200 of the most promising candidates (“105 stars per night was my record,” she says) and eventually, with observations from other telescopes too, land on one star that was, for a while, among the oldest known.
She was first drawn to this research after hearing astronomer Norbert Christlieb, then a visiting researcher at the Australian National University, talk about his work on old stars. “It hit me: Oh my God, this project combines all my interests,” Frebel says. There were stars, chemistry, nuclear physics and the periodic table. “There are so many, for me, cool topics that come together.”
In combing through her stars, Frebel was looking for ones that contained hydrogen and helium — but little else. Most heavier elements up to iron are forged in the cores of stars, where atomic nuclei smash together. As the universe aged, its inventory of atoms such as carbon, silicon and iron steadily increased. The earliest stars, however, came on the scene when there were far fewer of these pollutants floating around. Her efforts paid off in 2005 with a star branded HE 1327-2326, reported in
Nature
asthe most pristine star known at the time
. “She found one that took us closer back to the beginning of time as we know it,” says Frebel’s Ph.D. adviser, astronomer John Norris of Australian National. “It became clear to us early on that she was quite gifted.”
Her gifts netted her the Charlene Heisler Prize in 2007, given by the Astronomical Society of Australia for outstanding Ph.D. thesis. She has since won several recognitions, including the Annie Jump Cannon Award in 2010, given to notable young female researchers by the American Astronomical Society, for her “pioneering work in advancing our understanding of the earliest epochs of the Milky Way galaxy through the study of its oldest stars.”
Carbon seeding The geriatric stars that Frebel finds are not perfectly pristine; they preserve in their atmospheres the chemical makeup of interstellar gas that had been seeded with a smidgen of heavy elements from the explosions of stars that came before. Chemical abundances in many of these stellar fossils are out of balance compared with modern stars. The fossil stars have much more carbon relative to iron, for example — carbon that had to have come from the debris of that very first crop of stars.
Frebel worked with theorists to show that excess carbon could have allowed successive generations of stars (and planets) to form, reporting the work in 2007 in Monthly Notices of the Royal Astronomical Society Letters. “I’ve always been interested in understanding the main message of the data,” she says, which leads her away from the telescope to computer simulations and theory. In this case, the message is that carbon “might have been the most important element in the universe.”
Gas needs to be cold, around –270° Celsius, just a few degrees above absolute zero, to clump and form stars. And carbon is an excellent coolant; its electrons are arranged in such a way to let it efficiently radiate energy. The first generation of stars didn’t have carbon’s help. They were probably slow to form and ended up as gargantuan fluffy orbs hundreds of times as massive as the sun. But once those stars exploded and seeded the cosmos with carbon, Frebel’s data suggest, subsequent generations of stars formed that would have looked more like the stars we see today.
Frebel likens her studies to watching her young son learn to walk and talk. “My overall interpretation is that the universe was still trialing things.”
Before she became a parent, she regularly went to one of the twin Magellan telescopes, 2,380 meters above sea level in the Chilean Atacama Desert. On long nights, while waiting for the telescope to soak up light from a star tens of thousands of light-years away, Frebel would feel the pull of the night sky. “I just lie on the ground and stare into the sky and get lost in the universe,” she says.
In recent years, Frebel has expanded her repertoire to include a horde of teeny galaxies that orbit the Milky Way and also serve as archaeological sites. “Now we can use not just one star,” she says. “We can use the entire galaxy as a fossil record.” One of these runts, called Segue 1, appears to be a remnant from the cosmic dawn and might be typical of the pieces that assembled into large galaxies like the Milky Way.
Frebel and her student Ji discovered that another dwarf galaxy, dubbed Reticulum II, contains clues about one of the mechanisms responsible for creating most of the elements heavier than iron. A long-ago smashup between two neutron stars once bombarded the gas in Reticulum II with neutrons, producing atoms, such as uranium, that can’t be formed in stellar cores. Similar run-ins in other galaxies might have helped build up the universe’s stockpile of heavy elements.
Frebel plans to continue her quest to understand the origin of atoms, stars and galaxies. Though the celestial bodies she studies are ancient, “my days never get old,” she says.
