A new genetic discovery could equip researchers to fight a superbug by stripping it of its power rather than killing it outright.

Scientists have identified a set of genes in Clostridium difficile that turns on its production of toxins. Those toxins can damage intestinal cells, leading to diarrhea, abdominal pain and potentially life-threatening disease. Unlocking the bug’s genetic weapon-making secret could pave the way for new nonantibiotic therapies to disarm the superbug while avoiding collateral damage to other “good” gut bacteria, researchers report August 16 in mBio.
Identifying a specific set of genes that control toxin production is a big step forward, says Matthew Bogyo. Bogyo, a chemical biologist at Stanford University, also studies ways to defuse C. difficile’s toxin-making.

C. difficile bacteria infect a half million people and kill about 29,000 each year in the United States. In some individuals, though, the microbe hangs out in the gut for years without causing trouble. That’s because human intestines normally have plenty of good bacteria to keep disease-causing ones in check. However, a round of antibiotics can throw the system off balance, and if enough good bugs die off, “C. difficile takes over,” says lead author Charles Darkoh, a molecular microbiologist at the University of Texas Health Science Center at Houston. As infection rages, C. difficile can develop resistance to antibiotic drugs, turning it into an intractable superbug.

Darkoh’s team reported last year that C. difficile regulates toxin production with quorum sensing — a system that lets bacteria conserve resources and launch an attack only if their numbers reach a critical threshold. That study identified two sets of quorum-signaling genes, agr1 and agr2, that could potentially activate toxin production.

In the new analysis, Darkoh and colleagues tested the ability of a series of C. difficile strains to make toxins when incubated with human skin cells. Some C. difficile strains had either agr1 or agr2 deleted; others had all their quorum-sensing genes or lacked both gene sets. Agr1 is responsible for packing the superbug’s punch, the researchers found. C. difficile mutants without that set of genes made no detectable toxins, and skin cells growing in close quarters stayed healthy. Feeding those mutant bugs to mice caused no harm, whereas mice that swallowed normal C. difficile lost weight and developed diarrhea within days. In the skin cell cultures, agr2-deficient strains were just as lethal as normal C. difficile, showing that only agr1 is essential for toxin production.

Based on their new findings, Darkoh and colleagues have identified several compounds that inactivate C. difficile toxins or block key steps in the molecular pathway controlling their production. The researchers are testing these agents in mice.

In a mouse study published in Science Translational Medicine last year, Bogyo and colleagues found a different compound that could disarm C. difficile by targeting its toxins. And several companies are trying to fight C. difficile with probiotics — cocktails of good bacteria. Results have been mixed.

Two days after my first daughter was born, her pediatrician paid a house call to examine her newest patient. After packing up her gear, she told me something alarming: “For the next few months, a fever is an emergency.” If we measured a rectal temperature at or above 100.4° Fahrenheit, go to the hospital, she said. Call her on the way, but don’t wait.

I, of course, had no idea that a fever constituted an emergency. But our pediatrician explained that a fever in a very young infant can signal a fast-moving and dangerous bacterial infection. These infections are rare (and fortunately becoming even rarer thanks to newly created vaccines). But they’re serious, and newborns are particularly susceptible.

I’ve since heard from friends who have been through this emergency. Their newborns were poked, prodded and monitored by anxious doctors, in the hopes of quickly ruling out a serious bacterial infection. For infants younger than two months, it’s “enormously difficult to tell if an infant is seriously ill and requires antibiotics and/or hospitalization,” says Howard Bauchner, a pediatrician formerly at Boston University School of Medicine and now editor in chief of the Journal of the American Medical Association.

A new research approach, described in two JAMA papers published in August, may ultimately lead to better ways to find the cause of a fever.

These days, for most (but not all) very young infants, their arrival at a hospital will trigger a workup that includes a urine culture and a blood draw. Often doctors will perform a lumbar puncture, more commonly known as a spinal tap, to draw a sample of cerebrospinal fluid from the area around the spinal cord.

Doctors collect these fluids to look for bacteria. Blood, urine and cerebrospinal fluid are smeared onto culture dishes, and doctors wait and see if any bacteria grow. In the meantime, the feverish infant may be started on antibiotics, just in case. But this approach has its limitations. Bacterial cultivation can take several days. The antibiotics may not be necessary. And needless to say, it’s not easy to get those fluids, particularly from a newborn.

Some scientists believe that instead of looking for bacteria or viruses directly, we ought to be looking at how our body responds to them. Unfortunately, the symptoms of a bacterial and viral infection are frustratingly similar. “You get a fever. You feel sick,” says computational immunologist Purvesh Khatri of Stanford University. Sadly, there are no obvious telltale symptoms of one or the other, not even green snot. In very young infants, a fever might be the only sign that something is amiss.
But more subtle clues could betray the cause of the fever. When confronted with an infection, our immune systems ramp up in specific ways. Depending on whether we are fighting a viral or bacterial foe, different genes turn up their activity. “The immune system knows what’s going on,” Khatri says. That means that if we could identify the genes that reliably get ramped up by viruses and those that get ramped up by bacteria, then we could categorize the infection based on our genetic response.

That’s the approach used by two groups of researchers, whose study results both appear in the August 23/30 JAMA. One group found that in children younger than 2, two specific genes could help make the call on infection type. Using blood samples, the scientists found that one of the genes ramped up its activity in response to a viral infection, and the other responded to a bacterial infection.

The other study looked at immune responses in even younger children. In infants younger than 60 days, the activity of 66 genes measured in blood samples did a pretty good job of distinguishing between bacterial and viral infections. “These are really exciting preliminary results,” says Khatri, who has used a similar method for adults. “We need to do more work.”

Bauchner points out that in order to be useful, “the test would have to be very, very accurate in very young infants.” There’s very little room for error. “Only time will tell how good these tests will be,” he says. In an editorial that accompanied the two studies, he evoked the promise of these methods. If other experiments replicate and refine the results of these studies, he could envision a day in which the parents of a feverish newborn could do a test at home, call their doctor and together decide if the child needs more care.

That kind of test isn’t here yet, but scientists are working on it. The technology couldn’t come soon enough for doctors and parents desperate to figure out a fever.

Use it or lose it, triathletes.

Muscles don’t have long-term memory for exercises like running, biking and swimming, a new study suggests. The old adage that once you’ve been in shape, it’s easier to get fit again could be a myth, at least for endurance athletes, researchers in Sweden report September 22 in PLOS Genetics.

“We really challenged the statement that your muscles can remember previous training,” says Maléne Lindholm of the Karolinska Institute in Stockholm. But even if muscles forget endurance exercise, the researchers say, other parts of the body may remember, and that could make retraining easier for people who’ve been in shape before.
Endurance training is amazingly good for the body. Weak muscle contractions, sustained over a long period of time — as in during a bike ride — change proteins, mainly ones involved in metabolism. This translates into more energy-efficient muscle that can help stave off illnesses like diabetes, cardiovascular disease and some cancers. The question is, how long do those improvements last?

Previous work in mice has shown that muscles “remember” strength training (SN: 9/11/10, p. 15). But rather than making muscles more efficient, strength-training moves like squats and push-ups make muscles bigger and stronger. The muscles bulk up as they develop more nuclei. More nuclei lead to more production of proteins that build muscle fibers. Cells keep their extra nuclei even after regular exercise stops, to make protein easily once strength training restarts, says physiologist Kristian Gundersen at the University of Oslo in Norway. Since endurance training has a different effect on muscles, scientists weren’t sure if the cells would remember it or not.
To answer that question, Lindholm’s team ran volunteers through a 15-month endurance training experiment. In the first three months, 23 volunteers trained four times a week, kicking one leg 60 times per minute for 45 minutes. Volunteers rested their other leg. Lindholm’s team took muscle biopsies before and after the three-month period to see how gene activity changed with training. Specifically, the scientists looked for changes in the number of mRNAs (the blueprints for proteins) that each gene was making. Genes associated with energy production showed the greatest degree of change in activity with training.
At a follow-up, after participants had stopped training for nine months, scientists again biopsied muscle from the thighs of 12 volunteers, but didn’t find any major differences in patterns of gene activity between the previously trained legs and the untrained legs. “The training effects were presumed to have been lost,” says Lindholm. After another three-month bout of training, this time in both legs, the researchers saw no differences between the previously trained and untrained legs.
While this study didn’t find muscle memory for endurance — most existing evidence is anecdotal — it still might be easier for former athletes to get triathalon-ready, researchers say. The new result has “no bearing on the possible memory in other organ systems,” Gundersen says. The heart and cardiovascular system could remember and more easily regain previous fitness levels, for example, he says.

Even within muscle tissue, immune cells or stem cells could also have some memory not found in this study, says molecular exercise physiologist Monica Hubal of George Washington University in Washington, D.C. Lindholm adds that well-trained connections between nerves and muscles could also help lapsed athletes get in shape faster than people who have never exercised before. “They know how to exercise, how it’s supposed to feel,” Lindholm says. “Your brain knows exactly how to activate your muscles, you don’t forget how to do that.”

To human observers, bumblebees sipping nectar from flowers appear cheerful. It turns out that the insects may actually enjoy their work. A new study suggests that bees experience a “happy” buzz after receiving a sugary snack, although it’s probably not the same joy that humans experience chomping on a candy bar.

Scientists can’t ask bees or other animals how they feel. Instead, researchers must look for signs of positive or negative emotions in an animal’s decision making or behavior, says Clint Perry, a neuroethologist at Queen Mary University of London. In one such study, for example, scientists shook bees vigorously in a machine for 60 seconds — hard enough to annoy, but not hard enough to cause injury — and found that stressed bees made more pessimistic decisions while foraging for food.
The new study, published in the Sept. 30 Science, is the first to look for signs of positive bias in bee decision making, Perry says. His team trained 24 bees to navigate a small arena connected to a plastic tunnel. When the tunnel was marked with a blue “flower” (a placard), the bees learned that a tasty vial of sugar water awaited them at its end. When a green “flower” was present, there was no reward. Once the bees learned the difference, the scientists threw the bees a curveball: Rather than being blue or green, the “flower” had a confusing blue-green hue.

Faced with the ambiguous color, the bees appeared to dither, meandering around for roughly 100 seconds before deciding whether to enter the tunnel. Some didn’t enter at all. But when the scientists gave half the bees a treat — a drop of concentrated sugar water — that group spent just 50 seconds circling the entrance before deciding to check it out. Overall, the two groups flew roughly the same distances at the same speeds, suggesting that the group that had gotten a treat first had not simply experienced a boost in energy from the sugar, but were in a more positive, optimistic state, Perry says.

In a separate experiment, Perry and colleagues simulated a spider attack on the bees by engineering a tiny arm that darted out and immobilized them with a sponge. Sugar-free bees took about 50 seconds longer than treated bees to resume foraging after the harrowing encounter.

The researchers then applied a solution to the bees’ thoraxes that blocked the action of dopamine, one of several chemicals that transmit rewarding signals in the insect brain. With dopamine blocked, the effects of the sugar treat disappeared, further suggesting that a change in mood, and not just increased energy, was responsible for the bees’ behavior.

The results provide the first evidence for positive, emotion-like states in bees, says Ralph Adolphs, a neuroscientist at Caltech. Yet he suspects that the metabolic effects of sugar did influence the bees’ behavior.
Geraldine Wright, a neuroethologist at Newcastle University in England, shares that concern. “The data reported in the paper doesn’t quite convince me that eating sucrose didn’t change how they behaved, even though they say it didn’t affect flight time or speed of flight,” she says. “I would be very cautious in interpreting the responses of bees in this assay as a positive emotional state.”

It may sound like science fiction, but it’s not: Scientists have created the first time crystal, using a chain of ions. Just as a standard crystal repeats in a regular spatial pattern, a time crystal repeats in time, returning to a similar configuration at regular intervals.

“This is a remarkable experiment,” says physicist Chetan Nayak of Microsoft Station Q at the University of California, Santa Barbara. “There is a ‘wow factor.’”

Scientists at the University of Maryland and the University of California, Berkeley created a chain of 10 ytterbium ions. These ions behave like particles with spin, a sort of quantum mechanical version of angular momentum, which can point either up or down. Using a laser, the physicists flipped the spins in a chain of ions halfway around, from up to down, and allowed the ions to interact so that the spin of each ion would influence the others. The researchers repeated this sequence at regular intervals, flipping the ions halfway each time and letting them interact. When scientists measured the ions’ spins, on average the ions went full circle, returning to their original states, in twice the time interval at which they were flipped halfway.
This behavior is sensible — if each flip turns something halfway around, it takes two flips to return to its original position. But scientists found that the ions’ spins would return to their original orientation at that same rate even if they were not flipped perfectly halfway. This result indicates that the system of ions prefers to respond at a certain regular period — the hallmark of a time crystal — just as atoms in a crystal prefer a perfectly spaced lattice. Such time crystals are “one of the first examples of a new phase of matter,” says physicist Norman Yao of UC Berkeley, a coauthor of the new result, posted online September 27 at arXiv.org.

Time crystals take an important unifying concept in physics — the idea of symmetry breaking — and extend it to time. Physical laws typically treat all points in space equally — no one location is different from any other. In a liquid, for example, atoms are equally likely to be found at any point in space. This is a continuous symmetry, as the conditions are the same at any point along the spatial continuum. If the liquid solidifies into a crystal, that symmetry is broken: Atoms are found only at certain regularly spaced positions, with voids in between. Likewise, if you rotate a crystal, on a microscopic level it would look different from different angles, but liquid will look the same however it’s rotated. In physics, such broken symmetries underlie topics ranging from magnets to superconductors to the Higgs mechanism, which imbues elementary particles with mass and gives rise to the Higgs boson.

In 2012, theoretical physicist Frank Wilczek of MIT proposed that symmetry breaking in time might produce time crystals (SN: 3/24/12, p. 8). But follow-up work indicated that time crystals couldn’t emerge in a system in a state of equilibrium, which is settled into a stable configuration. Instead, physicists realized, driven systems, which are periodically perturbed by an external force — like the laser flipping the ions — could create such crystals. “The original examples were either flawed or too simple,” says Wilczek. “This is much more interesting.”

Unlike the continuous symmetry that is broken in the transition from a liquid to a solid crystal, in the driven systems that the scientists used to create time crystals, the symmetry is discrete, appearing at time intervals corresponding to the time between perturbations. If the system repeats itself at a longer time interval than the one it’s driven at — as the scientists’ time crystal does — that symmetry is broken.

Time crystals are too new for scientists to have a handle on their potential practical applications. “It’s like a baby, you don’t know what it’s going to grow up to be,” Wilczek says. But, he says, “I don’t think we’ve heard the last of this by a long shot.”
There probably are related systems yet to be uncovered, says Nayak. “We’re just kind of scratching the surface of the kinds of amazing phenomena — such as time crystals — that we can have in nonequilibrium quantum systems. So I think it’s the first window into a whole new arena for us to explore.”

There’s much more to the universe than meets the eye, and a new web-based app lets you explore just how much our eyes are missing. Gleamoscope presents the night sky across a range of electromagnetic frequencies. Spots of gamma rays pinpoint distant feeding black holes. Tendrils of dust glow with infrared light throughout the Milky Way. A supernova remnant — the site of a star that exploded roughly 11,000 years ago — blasts out X-rays and radio waves.

Many of these phenomena are nearly imperceptible in visible light. So astronomers use equipment, such as specialized cameras and antennas, that can detect other frequencies of electromagnetic radiation. Computers turn the data into images, often assigning colors to certain frequencies to highlight specific details or physical processes.

In Gleamoscope, a slider smoothly transitions the scene from one frequency of light to another, turning the familiar star-filled night sky into a variety of psychedelic landscapes. Pan and magnification controls allow you to scan all around the night sky and zoom in for a closer look. The interactive map combines images from many observatories and includes new data from the Murchison Widefield Array, a network of radio antennas in Australia. Over 300,000 galaxies appear as dots in images of the new radio data, described in an upcoming issue of Monthly Notices of the Royal Astronomical Society. The radio map by itself can also be explored on mobile devices in a separate app called GLEAM, available on Google Play.

Mysterious flashes of radio waves from deep space keep coming, but they are just as mysterious as ever.

Gamma rays might have accompanied one of these eruptions, researchers report in the Nov. 20 Astrophysical Journal Letters. This is the first time high-energy photons have been associated with these blasts of radio energy, known as fast radio bursts. If the gamma rays did come from the same place as the radio waves, then the underlying source could be roughly 1 billion times as energetic as thought.
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Another burst, meanwhile, takes the record for brightest blast. The signal was bright enough to reveal details about the magnetic field between galaxies, astronomers report online November 17 in Science.

Fast radio bursts, or FRBs, have intrigued astronomers since the first one was reported in 2007 (SN: 8/9/14, p. 22). Since then, astronomers have discovered 18 in total. In most cases, a blip of radio waves lasting just a few milliseconds appears in the sky and is never seen again. Only one so far is known to repeat (SN: 4/2/16, p. 12). Most seem to originate in remote galaxies, possibly billions of light-years away. Until now, no one has detected any other frequency of electromagnetic radiation besides radio waves coming from these cosmic beacons.

A flash of gamma rays appeared at about the same time and from the same direction as a radio burst detected in 2013, James DeLaunay, a physics graduate student at Penn State, and colleagues report. They pored over old data from the Swift observatory, a NASA satellite launched in 2004, to see if it recorded any surges of gamma rays that might coincide with known radio bursts.

“Gamma rays associated with an FRB would be an incredibly important thing to find,” says Sarah Burke Spolaor, an astrophysicist at the National Radio Astronomy Observatory in Socorro, N.M. But she urges caution. “We don’t have a good inkling of where a specific burst comes from.” That leaves room for other types of eruptions to occur in the vicinity just by chance. DeLaunay and collaborators calculate that the odds of that are low, about one in 800. But several researchers are taking a wait-and-see attitude before feeling more confident that the gamma rays and FRB are linked.

“It’s tantalizing, but a lot more would need to be found to be convincing,” says Jason Hessels, an astrophysicist at the Netherlands Institute for Radio Astronomy in Dwingeloo.
If the same source emits both the radio waves and gamma rays, that could rule out a couple of proposals for the causes of the eruptions. Powerful radio hiccups from pulsars, the rapidly spinning cores of dead stars, are one candidate that wouldn’t make the cut, because they aren’t known to generate gamma rays.

Collisions between two neutron stars, or between a neutron star and a black hole, look promising, says Derek Fox, an astrophysicist at Penn State and a coauthor of the study. The energy output and duration of the gamma-ray burst are a good match with what’s expected for these smashups, he says, though it’s not clear whether they happen often enough to account for the thousands of FRBs that astronomers suspect go off every day.

No one story neatly fits all the data. “I think there are at least two populations,” says Fox. Perhaps some FRBs repeat, while others do not; some belch out gamma rays, others do not. There might be no one type of event that creates all FRBs, but rather a multitude.

That idea is tentative as well. “It’s way too early to say if there are multiple populations,” says Laura Spitler, an astrophysicist at the Max Planck Institute for Radio Astronomy in Bonn, Germany. A grab bag of cosmic calamities is plausible. But there are other astronomical events that exhibit enormous diversity, enough that all FRBs could also have just one type of trigger. “The data we have now isn’t sufficient to land on one side or the other,” Spitler says.

A more recent FRB, detected in 2015 at the Parkes radio telescope in Australia, shows off some of that diversity — and demonstrates how FRBs can be used as cosmological tools. A brief blast of radio waves from at least 1.6 billion light-years away is about four times as intense as the previous record holder. The signal’s vigor could be an intrinsic quirk of the underlying outburst, or could mean that this burst was unusually close to our galaxy — or both.

“What’s really exciting most about it is not just that it’s bright,” says Vikram Ravi, a Caltech astronomer and lead author of the study, “but really because of what we hope to use FRBs for.” This FRB was bright enough for Ravi and colleagues to deduce the magnetic field between galaxies. To do that, they measured the signal’s polarization, the alignment of radio waves imprinted by magnetized plasmas encountered en route to Earth. They found that, on average, the magnetic field is feeble, less than 21 nanogauss (or about one 10-millionth as strong as Earth’s magnetic field). That’s in line with astronomers’ theories about the strength of intergalactic magnetism.

“It’s not telling us anything that’s unexpected,” says Duncan Lorimer, an astrophysicist at West Virginia University in Morgantown who reported the first FRB in 2007. But it shows that FRBs can be used to learn more about intergalactic space, a region that is notoriously difficult to study. “It’s one thing to say we expect the magnetic field to be weak, but it’s another thing to actually measure it,” he adds. “It’s a signpost of things to come.”

This burst encountered different environments than a burst reported last year in Nature, which suggested an FRB origin in a highly magnetized environment, possibly near young stars in a remote galaxy (SN Online: 12/2/15). There’s no hint that the latest burst originated in a similar locale.

“I don’t think we contradict each other at all,” Ravi says. “Some FRBs originate in very magnetic environments and some don’t. Given that these are the only two FRBs where these measurements have been made, it’s hard to tell.”

Lucy didn’t let an upright stance ground her. This 3.2-million-year-old Australopithecus afarensis, hominid evolution’s best-known fossil individual, strong-armed her way up trees, a new study finds.

Her lower body was built for walking. But exceptional upper-body strength, approaching that of chimpanzees, enabled Lucy to hoist herself into trees or onto tree branches, paleoanthropologist Christopher Ruff of Johns Hopkins University School of Medicine and his colleagues report November 30 in PLOS ONE.

Lucy, and presumably other members of her species, “combined walking on two legs with a significant amount of tree climbing,” says coauthor John Kappelman, a paleoanthropologist at the University of Texas at Austin. A Kappelman-led team concluded earlier this year that, based on numerous bone breaks, Lucy fell to her death from a tree, either while climbing or sleeping (SN: 9/17/16, p. 16). That’s a controversial claim, dismissed by some researchers as a misreading of bone damage caused by the fossilization process.
Debate about whether A. afarensis spent much time in trees goes back to shortly after the discovery of Lucy’s partial skeleton in 1974. Additional discoveries of A. afarensis fossils have only intensified disputes between those who regard the ancient species as primarily designed for walking and others convinced that Lucy’s crowd split time between walking and tree climbing (SN: 12/1/12, p. 16; SN: 7/17/10, p. 5).

Ruff’s team measured the internal structure and strength of Lucy’s two surviving upper arm bones and one upper leg bone, including the knob at the top of the upper leg that forms the hip joint. Data came from high-resolution X-ray CT scans taken in 2008 while her remains were in the United States for a museum tour.

These scans were compared with those of present-day people, chimps and bonobos, as well as 26 fossil hominids. These hominids — including both australopithecines like Lucy, as well as early members of the human genus, Homo — date to between 2.6 million and 600,000 years ago.

Lucy’s long, weight-bearing upper arms most closely resemble the anatomy of chimps, the scientists say. Studies of various living animals, including humans and chimps, indicate that daily behaviors during growth influence the development of limb bones. Thus, it’s plausible that Lucy pulled herself into trees from an early age, adding to the strength and length of her upper arms, the team proposes.

Although Lucy walked upright, she had a less efficient gait than that of people today and Homo erectus individuals dating to between 1.6 million and 700,000 years ago, the researchers say. The stress of supporting a robust upper body with a slighter lower body would have interfered with Lucy’s two-legged stride, they hold. Traits such as a relatively small hip joint and short legs limited Lucy’s ability to walk long distances, the investigators add.
Ruff’s study supports proposals over the last few decades that, for her size, Lucy had longer, stronger arms and smaller hip joints than people now do, says paleoanthropologist Carol Ward of the University of Missouri School of Medicine in Columbia. It’s plausible that a small hip joint slightly undermined Lucy’s stride, but that hasn’t been conclusively demonstrated, Ward adds.

Biological anthropologist Philip Reno of Penn State takes a harder line. “This new analysis does not resolve any of the debates regarding the use of tree climbing or the effectiveness of upright walking in australopithecines.” Radical, humanlike changes to the pelvis and foot in Lucy’s species suggest that her large upper arms were simply evolutionary holdovers from hominids’ tree-dwelling ancestors, not the consequences of extensive tree climbing, Reno argues. It’s hard to say how Lucy’s relatively small hip joint interacted with many other skeletal and muscular forces affecting an upright gait, he adds.

The big question, in Ward’s view, is whether skeletal changes in early Homo conducive to walking and running arose as a result of largely abandoning tree climbing or for other reasons, such as an increasing emphasis on arms and hands capable of manipulating objects in precise ways.

There’s no bow or festive wrap, but I hope that you will consider this issue a gift of sorts. That is how the staff of Science News thinks of it, our year-end recap of the top science stories. In these pages, you’ll find the stories that continued to resonate well after we first covered them and many that we expect will resonate for years to come — all collected in one easy-to-read, extremely portable, no-batteries-required package (unless you are reading this on a smartphone or tablet, that is).
Gravitational waves, of course, occupy the top spot on our list this year. The “of course” reflects the fundamental importance of the detection of this elusive form of energy, announced in February. The finding confirmed key theories in physics, sure, but even more exciting is what it promises for the future. Gravitational waves are powerful tools for probing the universe. Just as the Hubble Space Telescope revealed cosmic beauty in electromagnetic radiation, gravitational wave detectors may show scientists an unprecedented view of far-off
Closer to home, the Zika virus became one of our most closely watched stories this year, as the extent of human suffering caused by the mosquito-borne virus became clear. But it’s also a tale of progress: Scientists have responded swiftly, creating a robust literature on the virus in a short time. We still don’t have all the answers, but we’ve come a long way in terms of creating the knowledge urgently needed to inform health recommendations.

Other stories made this year’s list with a more mixed pedigree. The discovery of a (relatively) nearby exoplanet energized many of our science fiction–fueled fantasies of other worlds, for instance. Research moved ahead on what some call “three-parent babies” — using mitochondrial donors to replace a woman’s own disease-prone mitochondria in egg cells — despite a lack of clarity on the procedure’s efficacy. Melting Arctic sea ice has led to a historically significant opening of passageways between the Pacific and the Atlantic oceans. New hope for the battle against Alzheimer’s disease seemed worthy of mention. All these developments and more were regarded by Science News reporters and editors as milestones of discovery or news of importance to society.

We also decided to add some other elements to our year-in-review coverage for 2016. Guided by the deft hand of Beth Quill, our enterprise editor, we augmented our Top 10 list with an essay by managing editor Tom Siegfried about two of physics’s noteworthy recent failures and how the two are related. Science journalist and author Sonia Shah offers a roundup of 2016 in public health, reminding us of the thorny problems associated with infectious diseases, from antibiotic resistance to the resurgence of yellow fever. Other pieces illustrate some of the challenges facing the driverless car revolution, as well as what Science News reporters see on the horizon for the coming year.

We have tried to pack as much science as possible into this issue, from the biggest stories to the more obscure nuggets of discovery and surprise. I can’t think of a gift I’d more like to receive.

Forget honking Vs of geese or gathering herds of wildebeests. The biggest yearly mass movements of land animals may be the largely overlooked flights of aphids, moths, beetles, flies, spiders and their kin.

About 3.5 trillion arthropods fly or windsurf over the southern United Kingdom annually, researchers say after analyzing a decade of data from special entomological radar and net sweeps. The larger species in the study tended to flow in a consistent direction, suggesting that more species may have specialized biology for seasonal migrations than scientists realized, says study coauthor Jason Chapman, now at the University of Exeter in Penryn, England.
The creatures detected in the study may be little, but they add up to roughly 3,200 metric tons of animal weight, Chapman and colleagues report in the Dec. 23 Science. That’s 7.7 times the tonnage of U.K. songbirds migrating to Africa and equivalent to about 20,000 (flying) reindeer.

These are “huge flows of biomass and nutrients,” Chapman says. “One of the things we hope to achieve in this work is to convince people who are studying terrestrial ecosystems that they cannot ignore what’s happening in the skies above them.”
Biologist Martin Wikelski of the Max Planck Institute for Ornithology in Radolfzell, Germany, who wasn’t part of the study, calls these migrants “aerial plankton.” It’s a reference to the much-studied tiny sea creatures whose movements and blooms power oceanic food webs. Understanding insect migrations and abundances is crucial for figuring out food webs on land, including those that link insects and birds. That’s “particularly important nowadays as we are starting to lose many of our songbirds,” he says.
The word migration applied to arthropod movements doesn’t mean one animal’s roundtrip, Chapman says. Instead, the term describes leaving the home range and undertaking a sustained journey, maybe cued by seasons changing or food dwindling. A return trip, if there is one, could be the job of a future generation.

The migrants he studied, traveling at least 150 meters aboveground, aren’t just accidentally blowing in the wind, he says. Many of the tiniest — aphids and such that weigh less than 10 milligrams — take specific measures to start their journey, such as trekking to the top of a plant to catch a gust. Juvenile spiders stand on tiptoe reeling out silk until a breeze tugs a strand, and them, into the air. “They only do this when wind conditions will enable them to be caught and taken up; otherwise, it’s a terrible waste of silk,” Chapman says. Some caterpillars also spin silk to travel, and mites, with neither wings nor silk, can surf themselves into a good breeze.

The basic idea that a lot of arthropods migrate overhead is “absolutely not” a surprise to behavioral and evolutionary biologist Hugh Dingle of the University of California, Davis. He says so not dismissively, but joyously: “Now we have really good data.”

This smallest class of migrants, sampled with nets suspended from a big balloon, makes up more than 99 percent of the individual arthropods and about 80 percent of the total mass. They didn’t show an overall trend in flight direction. But radar techniques refined at Rothamsted Research in Harpenden, England, showed distinct seasonal patterns in direction for medium-sized and larger insects.

“That’s the big surprise for us,” Chapman says. “We assumed that those flows would just be determined by the wind.” But medium-sized and large insects such as lacewings and moths overall tended to head northward from May through June regardless of typical wind direction. And in August and September, they tended southward. “Lots of insects we didn’t think capable of this are clearly doing it,” he says.

Managing such a feat takes specialized biology for directed, seasonal migrations. Many of these arthropods must have some form of built-in compass plus a preferred direction and the genetics that change that preference as they or their offspring make the return migration. Entomologists have known some migratory details of monarch butterflies in North America and a handful of other such insects, many of them pest moths. But speculating about specialized migrants, Chapman says, “there must be thousands of these.”