Ice in space may break out the bubbly. Zapping simulated space ice with imitation starlight makes the ice bubble like champagne. If this happens in space, this liquidlike behavior could help organic molecules form at the edges of infant planetary systems. The experiment provides a peek into the possible origins of life.

Shogo Tachibana of Hokkaido University in Sapporo, Japan, and colleagues combined water, methanol and ammonia, all found in comets and interstellar clouds where stars form, at a temperature between ‒263° Celsius and ‒258° C. The team then exposed this newly formed ice to ultraviolet radiation to mimic the light of a young star.

As the ice warmed to ‒213° C, it cracked like a brittle solid. But at just five degrees warmer, bubbles started appearing in the ice, and continued to bubble and pop until the ice reached ‒123° C. At that point, the ice returned to a solid state and formed crystals.

“We were so surprised when we first saw bubbling of ice at really low temperatures,” Tachibana says. The team reports its finding September 29 in Science Advances.

Follow-up experiments showed fewer bubbles formed in ice with less methanol and ammonia. Ice that wasn’t irradiated showed no bubbles at all.

Analyses traced spikes of hydrogen gas during irradiation. That suggests that the bubbles are made of hydrogen that the ultraviolet light split off methane and ammonia molecules, Tachibana says. “It is like bubbling in champagne,” he says — with an exception. Champagne bubbles are dissolved carbon dioxide, while ice bubbles are dissolved hydrogen.
The irradiated ice took on another liquidlike feature: Between about ‒185° C and ‒161° C, it flowed like refrigerated honey, despite being well below its melting temperature, Tachibana adds.

That liquidity could help kick-start life-building chemistry. In 2016, Cornelia Meinert of the University Nice Sophia Antipolis in France and colleagues showed that irradiated ice forms a cornucopia of molecules essential to life, including ribose, the backbone of RNA, which may have been a precursor to DNA (SN: 4/30/16, p. 18). But it was not clear how smaller molecules could have found each other and built ribose in rigid ice.

At the time, critics said complex molecules could have been contamination, says Meinert, who was not involved in the new work. “Now this is helping us argue that at this very low temperature, the small precursor molecules can actually react with each other,” she says. “This is supporting the idea that all these organic molecules can form in the ice, and might also be present in comets.”

ORLANDO, Fla. — Kissing cousins aren’t doing their children any evolutionary favors, some preliminary data suggest.

Mating with a close relative, known as inbreeding, reduces nonhuman animals’ evolutionary fitness — measured by the ability to produce offspring. Inbreeding, it turns out, also puts a hit on humans’ reproductive success, David Clark of the University of Edinburgh reported October 20 at the annual meeting of the American Society of Human Genetics.

Offspring of second cousins or closer relatives make up about 10 percent of the world population, Clark said. He and colleagues collected data on more than a million people from more than 100 culturally diverse populations and calculated the effect inbreeding has on traits related to evolutionary fitness.
Compared with outbred peers, offspring of first cousins have 1.4 fewer opposite-sex sexual partners, have sex for the first time 11 months later, have 0.11 fewer children and are 1.6 times as likely to be childless — all indicators of reduced reproductive ability. Childlessness was not because of a lack of opportunity to have kids, but rather because of fertility problems, Clark said. Children of first cousins are also 1 centimeter shorter, on average, than their peers and 0.84 kilograms lighter at birth. They also have five fewer months of education, presumably because they have less intellectual capacity than people with more distantly related parents, Clark said.

The more closely related the parents, the bigger the hit on reproductive fitness. Children of incest are 3 centimeters shorter and four times as likely to be childless than outbred peers, Clark said.

The funniest thing I’ve ever said to any botanist was, “What is a species?” Well, it certainly got the most spontaneous laugh. I don’t think Barbara Ertter, who doesn’t remember the long-ago moment, was being mean. Her laugh was more of a “where do I even start” response to an almost impossible question.

At first glance, “species” is a basic vocabulary word schoolchildren can ace on a test by reciting something close to: a group of living things that create fertile offspring when mating with each other but not when mating with outsiders. Ask scientists who devote careers to designating those species, however, and there’s no typical answer. Scientists do not agree.

“You may be stirring up a hornet’s nest,” warns evolutionary zoologist Frank E. Zachos of Austria’s Natural History Museum Vienna when I ask my “what is a species” question. “People sometimes react very emotionally when it comes to species concepts.” He should know, having cataloged 32 of them in his 2016 overview, Species Concepts in Biology.

The widespread schoolroom definition above, known as the biological species concept, is No. 2 in his catalog, which he tactfully arranges in alphabetical order. This single concept has been so pervasive that whenever Science News publishes something about species interbreeding, readers want to know if we have lost our grip on logic. Separate species, by definition, can do no such thing.
As concerned readers question our reports of hybrid species, a vast debate among specialists over how to define and identify species rolls on. The biological species concept has drawbacks, to put it gently, for coping with much of the variety and oddness of life. Alternative concepts have pros and cons, too. As specialists argue over the fine details of species concepts, I’m struck by how often the word “fuzzy” comes up.

Also striking is how at least some of the people who actually appraise species for a living have made peace with the perpetual tumult over defining just what it is they get up in the morning to study. The ambiguities seemed less jarring to me after a September conversation with the Smithsonian’s Kevin de Queiroz, deep in the maze of doors and corridors behind the scenes at the National Museum of Natural History in Washington, D.C. As a systematic biologist, he studies the evolutionary histories of reptiles, and designates species, which explains a door we passed marked “Alcohol Room.” Fire regulations require special handling for jars of animal specimens preserved in alcohol. In the cacophony of species concepts, de Queiroz sees some commonality.

Ertter, affiliated with the University of California, Berkeley and the College of Idaho in Caldwell, embraces the ambiguity. “Why do we expect that nature is nice and neat and clean? Because it’s more convenient for us,” she says. “It’s up to us to figure it out, not to demand that it’s one way or another.”
Problems with the old standard
The biological species concept has an intuitive appeal. Elephants don’t mate with oak trees to produce really big acorns. Horses can mate with donkeys, but the resulting mules are infertile. The most famous form of this species definition may be from evolutionary biologist Ernst Mayr, who wrote in 1942: “Species are groups of actually or potentially interbreeding natural populations, which are reproductively isolated from other such groups.” Famous, yes, but limited.
Modern genetics has revealed that much of the diversity of life on Earth is found in single-celled organisms that reproduce asexually by splitting in two — thus flummoxing the definition. Of course the single-celled hordes still form … somethings. There isn’t just one vast smear of microbial life where all shapes, sizes, body features and chemistry can be found in any old mix. There are clusters with shared traits, some of which cause human and agricultural diseases and some of which photosynthesize in the ocean, producing as much as 70 percent of the oxygen that we and other living things breathe. Humans need to understand the history of microbes and have names to talk about these influential organisms.

Rather than deciding that these microbes are just not species, which is one popular view, microbiome researcher Seth Bordenstein suggests “just twisting the biological species concept ever so slightly.” Genes don’t shuffle around via sex, but there’s still kidnapping of genes from other asexuals. This process might count as something like interbreeding, says Bordenstein, of Vanderbilt University in Nashville. With that interpretation, the biological species concept “could apply to microbes.” Sort of.

But one-celled microbes aren’t the only asexuals. Even vertebrates have their no-sex scandals. New Mexico whiptail lizards are a species: Aspidoscelis neomexicanus. Yet females lay eggs with no male fertilization; males don’t exist.

And plant reproduction, oy. The blends of sex and no-sex don’t fit into a tidy biological species concept. Consider a new variety of a western North American species that Ertter and botanist Alexa DiNicola of the University of Wisconsin–Madison named this year. Potentilla versicolor var. darrachii belongs to a genus that’s closely related to strawberries. Plants in the genus open little five-petaled flowers and readily form classic seeds that mix genes from pollen and ovule. On occasion, though, the genes in the seed’s embryo are only mom’s. “They basically use seeds as a form of cloning,” Ertter says. The male pollen in these cases merely jump-starts formation of the seed’s food supply.

That’s just one reason Potentilla is “one of the messiest genera you can imagine,” Ertter says. She and DiNicola hauled collectors’ gear on a backpacking trip in Oregon to sample some of the plants. The team found signs that one species was hybridizing readily with another; the species were so different that even a nonbotanist could tell them apart (leaves shaped like a feather versus an open fan). Sharing genes across species is evidently common in this genus and not at all rare among plants.

Such shenanigans have led Ertter to what she calls the “fuzzy species concept.” After looking at all the kinds of evidence she might muster for a plant, from its genes and distribution to the details of petals, leaf hairs and other parts, she sides with the preponderance of data to designate a species.

Concept zoo
There can be a lot of messiness in picking out the limits of species, but that’s OK with philosopher Matt Haber of the University of Utah in Salt Lake City. He organized three conferences this year on the complications of determining what’s a species when fire hoses of genetic information spew signs of unexpected gene mixing and tell different stories depending on the genes tracked.

“Just because boundaries are fuzzy,” Haber says, “doesn’t mean they aren’t actually boundaries.” We may not be used to thinking about species distinctions this way, but other familiar distinctions have similar “gradient boundaries,” as he calls them. “Cold and hot weather,” he says. We recognize winter weather as different from summer even though fall and spring have neither a sharp switch point nor a smooth slide. Species, too, could have zones of erratic mixing but still overall be defined as species.

There are a whole lot of species concepts, says Richard Richards, a philosopher of biology at the University of Alabama in Tuscaloosa. “We use different rules for different kinds of organisms,” he says. “For vertebrates, the interbreeding rule is useful. Not so for the many kinds of nonsexually reproducing organisms out there.”

What’s called the agamospecies concept applies to asexual organisms and cobbles together genetic or other observable similarities. The ecological species concept emphasizes adaptations to particular environmental zones. The nothospecies concept applies to plants arising when parent species hybridize. And so on. That’s not even counting “the cynical species concept,” which Zachos has heard defining a species as “whatever a taxonomist says it is.”

Land and money
Species definitions can have ramifications, financial and otherwise, for the wider world. Choosing one species concept over another can change how a creature gets classified, which could determine whether conservation laws protect it. The coastal California gnatcatcher’s status as a distinct subspecies makes it eligible for federal protection to keep the bird’s shrub-land as habitat rather than a real estate development. Critics have argued, however, that the bird isn’t distinct enough from its relatives to merit special protection.

Mammal specialists are switching over to what’s called a phylogenetic concept, Zachos says. The phylogenetic concept allows populations to upgrade to full species status if they share an ancestor and have some unique trait, such as a particular gene. Among the complex consequences of following this concept is possible “taxonomic inflation,” he warns. A 2011 rethink of the ungulate group of sheep, goats, antelope and more ballooned the species count from 143 to 279, for instance. In biology as in economics, “inflation causes devaluation,” Zachos says. “People get bored. If one of the tiger species goes extinct, they say, ‘So what? There are five more.’ ”

As individual taxonomists choose their pet concepts, “ ‘species’ are often created or dismissed arbitrarily,” argued two researchers from Australia in the June 1 Nature. The duo warned of potential “anarchy” and went as far as calling for an international organization to reduce the chaos.

“A long list of silly examples of complications caused by poor taxonomic governance” pushed conservation biologist Stephen Garnett of Charles Darwin University in Darwin to cowrite the piece. Standardizing species concepts across broad groups, mammals and reptiles, for instance, would reduce the chaos, says coauthor Leslie Christidis, a taxonomist at Southern Cross University in Coffs Harbour. The notion of standard-setting in determining species has stirred a bit of agreement and a lot of dissent. “We united the taxonomic community — unfortunately against us,” he says.

The furor illustrates the diversity of ways that people are sorting out what a species is among life’s various organisms. Historian and philosopher of biology John S. Wilkins of the University of Melbourne in Australia was almost kidding when he wrote that there are “n+1 definitions of ‘species’ in a room of n biologists.”
The commons
Thinking about the seemingly intractable ambiguities of the species concepts got a lot easier for me after my visit with de Queiroz. His office was the opposite of the Hollywood biologist’s jumble of dessicated specimens, dangling skeletons and tottering towers of books. The long room was mostly filled with rows of librarian-tidy metal bookcases hiding a desk cave at the far end. When I asked him what a species is, he didn’t laugh. He explained that there’s more agreement than the swarm of species concepts might suggest.

The concepts have in common their references to organisms in a population lineage, or line of descent. As evolutionary time passes, a lineage moves away and its various connected populations grow separate from others of the same ancestry. The concepts share the basic idea that a species is a “separately evolving metapopulation lineage,” he says.

To identify those lineages in practice, however, requires finding evidence of interbreeding or patterns of shared traits. Adding such criteria to the concepts is what creates the crazy diversity. Defining the term species is “not the problem,” he says. “The problem is in identifying a species.”

He calls up a map on his computer from a recent paper a former lab member published on fringe-toed lizards. Colored blobs float over dark lines of a map of the western United States. Three blobs are clearly designated species based on multiple lines of evidence. Three lizard patches, however, are perplexing. Various ways of testing these lizard populations lead to contradictory results.

No matter how badly we want the process of applying a species definition to be clear-cut for all creatures in all cases, “it just isn’t,” de Queiroz says. And that’s exactly what evolutionary biology predicts. Evolution is an ongoing process, with lineages splitting or rejoining at their own pace. Exploring a living, ever-evolving world of life means finding and accepting fuzziness.

A plasma cocoon lets growing stars keep their X-rays to themselves. Laboratory experiments that mimic maturing stars show that streams of plasma splash off a star’s surface, forming a varnish that keeps certain kinds of radiation inside.

That coating could explain a puzzling mismatch between X-ray and ultraviolet observations of growing stars, report physicist Julien Fuchs of École Polytechnique in Paris and colleagues November 1 in Science Advances.

Physicists think stars that are less than 10 million years old grow up by drawing matter onto their surfaces from an orbiting disk of dust and gas. Magnetic fields shape the incoming matter into columns of hot, charged plasma. The same disk will eventually form planets (SN Online: 11/6/14), so knowing how quickly stars gobble up the disk can help tell what kinds of planets can grow.
When disk matter hits a stellar surface, the matter heats to about 1,700° Celsius and should emit a lot of light in ultraviolet and X-ray wavelengths. Measuring that light can help scientists infer how fast the star is growing. But previous observations found that such stars emit between four and 100 times fewer X-rays than they should.

One theory why is that something about how a star eats absorbs the X-rays. So Fuchs and his colleagues re-created the feeding process in a lab. First, the team zapped a piece of PVC representing the edge of the disk with a laser to create plasma, similar to the columns that feed stars. In space, a star’s gravity draws the plasma onto its surface at speeds of about 500 kilometers per second. The star’s strong magnetic field guides the charged plasma into organized columns millions of kilometers long.
There’s not enough room or gravity in the lab to reproduce that exactly, but the plasma physics is the same on smaller scales, Fuchs says. His team applied magnetic fields up to 100,000 times stronger than Earth’s to the plasma to shape it into columns and accelerate it to the same speed it would have in space. The researchers placed a target made of Teflon representing the star’s surface just 11.7 millimeters away from the PVC, a distance equivalent to about 10 million kilometers in space.

When the plasma hits the Teflon surface, the plasma begins to ooze sideways. But the magnetic field that holds the plasma in a column stops the plasma’s spreading. Plasma and magnetic field push against each other until the buildup of pressure between them forces the plasma to curve away from the surface and back up the column, coating incoming plasma with outgoing plasma.

“This cocoon is building up,” Fuchs says. It absorbs enough X-rays to explain the surprisingly wimpy X-ray emission of growing stars, the experiment found. The team also compared the experiment setup with computer simulations of feeding stars to show that the lab configuration was a good representation of real stars.

The comparison with computer simulations makes the experiment more reliable, says experimental physicist Gianluca Gregori of the University of Oxford. “There is this reality check,” he says. “In the astrophysical community, there’s a tendency to think that there are observations, and there are simulations. But what this paper tells is that there are other ways you can understand what happens in the universe.”

Sperm from stressed-out dads can carry that stress from one generation to another. “But one question that really hasn’t been addressed is, ‘How do dad’s experiences actually change his germ cell?’” Jennifer Chan, a neuroendocrinologist at the University of Pennsylvania, said November 13 in Washington, D.C., at the annual meeting of the Society for Neuroscience.

Now, from a study in mice, Chan and her colleagues have some answers, and even hints at ways to stop this stress inheritance.
The researchers focused on the part of the male reproductive tract called the caput epididymis, a place where sperm cells mature. Getting rid of a stress-hormone sensor there called the glucocorticoid receptor stopped the transmission of stress, the researchers found. When faced with an alarming predator odor, offspring of chronically stressed mice dads overproduce the stress hormone corticosterone. But mice dads that lacked this receptor in the epididymis had offspring with normal hormonal responses.

Earlier work has shown that epididymis cells release small packets filled with RNA that can fuse to sperm and change their genetic payload. Experiments on cells in dishes revealed that chronic exposure to corticosterone changed the RNA in these vesicles. The results offer an explanation of how stress can change sperm: By activating the glucocorticoid receptor, stress tweaks the RNA in epididymis vesicles. Then, those vesicles deliver their altered contents to sperm, passing stress to the next generation.

Similar vesicles are present in human seminal fluid, even after ejaculation. Chan and colleagues are testing whether humans carry similar signs of stress in these RNA-loaded vesicles by studying college students’ semen samples. Exam schedules will be used as a stress indicator, she said.

There’s been a lot of talk about fake news running rampant online, but now there’s data to back up the discussion.

An analysis of more than 4.5 million tweets and retweets posted from 2006 to 2017 indicates that inaccurate news stories spread faster and further on the social media platform than true stories. The research also suggests that people play a bigger role in sharing falsehoods than bots.

These findings, reported in the March 9 Science, could guide strategies for curbing misinformation on social media. Until now, most investigations into the spread of fake news have been anecdotal, says Filippo Menczer, an informatics and computer scientist at Indiana University Bloomington not involved in the work. “We didn’t have a really large-scale, systematic study evaluating the spread of misinformation,” he says.
To study rumormongering trends on Twitter, researchers examined about 126,000 tweet cascades — families of tweets composed of one original tweet and all the retweets born of that original post. All of those cascades centered on one of about 2,400 news stories that had been verified or debunked by at least one fact-checking organization.
Deb Roy, a media scientist at MIT, and colleagues investigated how far and fast each cascade spread. Discussions of false stories tended to start from fewer original tweets, but some of those retweet chains then reached tens of thousands of users, while true news stories never spread to more than about 1,600 people. True news stories also took about six times as long as false ones to reach 1,500 people. Overall, fake news was about 70 percent more likely to be retweeted than real news.
Roy and colleagues initially removed the activity of automated Twitter accounts called bots from the analysis. But when bot traffic was added back into the mix, the researchers found that these computer programs spread false and true news about equally. This finding indicates that humans, rather than bots, are primarily to blame for spreading fake news on the platform.

People may be more inclined to spread tall tales because these stories are perceived to be more novel, says study coauthor Soroush Vosoughi, a data scientist at MIT. Compared to the topics of true news stories, fake news topics tended to deviate more from the tweet themes users were exposed to in the two months before a user retweeted a news story. Tweet replies to false news stories also contained more words indicating surprise.

It’s not entirely clear what kinds of conversations these stories sparked among users, as the researchers didn’t inspect the full content of all the posts in the dataset. Some people who retweeted fake news posts may have added comments to debunk those stories. But Menczer says the analysis still provides a “very good first step” in understanding what kinds of posts grab the most attention.

The study could help guide strategies for fighting the spread of fake news, says Paul Resnick, a computational social scientist at the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor who was not involved in the work. For instance, the finding that humans are more liable to retweet falsehoods than bots may mean that social media platforms should focus on discouraging humans from spreading rumors, rather than simply booting off misbehaved bots.

To help users identify true stories online, social media sites could label news pieces or media outlets with veracity scores — similar to how grocery stores and food producers offer nutrition facts, says study coauthor Sinan Aral, an expert on information diffusion in social networks at MIT. Platforms also could restrict accounts reputed to spread lies. It’s still unclear how successful such interventions might be, Aral says. “We’re barely starting to scratch the surface on the scientific evidence about false news, its consequences and its potential solutions.”

“The strangest place in the whole universe might just be right here.” So says actor Will Smith, narrating the opening moments of a new documentary series about the wonderful unlikeliness of our own planet, Earth.

One Strange Rock, premiering March 26 on the National Geographic Channel, is itself a peculiar and unlikely creation. Executive produced by Academy Award–nominated Darren Aronofsky and by Jane Root of the production company Nutopia and narrated by Smith, the sprawling, ambitious 10-episode series is chock-full of stunningly beautiful images and CGI visuals of our dynamic planet. Each episode is united by a theme relating to Earth’s history, such as the genesis of life, the magnetic and atmospheric shields that protect the planet from solar radiation and the ways in which Earth’s denizens have shaped its surface.
The first episode, “Gasp,” ponders Earth’s atmosphere and where its oxygen comes from. In one memorable sequence, the episode takes viewers on a whirlwind journey from Ethiopia’s dusty deserts to the Amazon rainforest to phytoplankton blooms in the ocean. Dust storms from Ethiopia, Smith tells us, fertilize the rainforest. And that rainforest, in turn, feeds phytoplankton. A mighty atmospheric river, fueled by water vapor from the Amazon and heat from the sun, flows across South America until it reaches the Andes and condenses into rain. That rain erodes rock and washes nutrients into the ocean, feeding blooms of phytoplankton called diatoms. One out of every two breaths that we take comes from the photosynthesis of those diatoms, Smith adds.
As always, Smith is an appealing everyman. But the true stars of the series may be the eight astronauts, including Chris Hadfield and Nicole Stott, who appear throughout the series. In stark contrast to the colorful images of the planet, the astronauts are filmed alone, their faces half in shadow against a black background as they tell stories that loosely connect to the themes. The visual contrast emphasizes the astronauts’ roles as outsiders who have a rare perspective on the blue marble.
“Having flown in space, I feel this connection to the planet,” Stott told Science News . “I was reintroduced to the planet.” Hadfield had a similar sentiment: “It’s just one tiny place, but it’s the tiny place that is ours,” he added.
Each astronaut anchors a different episode. In “Gasp,” Hadfield describes a frightening moment during a spacewalk outside the International Space Station when his eyes watered. Without gravity, the water couldn’t form into teardrops, so it effectively blinded him. To remove the water, he was forced to allow some precious air to escape his suit. It’s a tense moment that underscores the pricelessness of the thin blue line, visible from space, that marks Earth’s atmosphere. “It contains everything that’s important to us,” Hadfield says in the episode. “It contains life.”

Stott, meanwhile, figures prominently in an episode called “Storm.” Instead of a weather system, the title refers to the rain of space debris that Earth has endured throughout much of its history — including the powerful collision that formed the moon (SN: 4/15/17, p. 18). Stott describes her own sense of wonder as a child, watching astronauts land on our closest neighbor — and how the travels of those astronauts and the rocks they brought back revealed that Earth and the moon probably originated from the same place.

It’s glimpses like these into the astronauts’ lives and personalities — scenes of Hadfield strumming “Space Oddity” on a guitar, for example, or Stott chatting with her son in the family kitchen — that make the episodes more than a series of beautiful and educational IMAX films. Having been away from the planet for a short time, the astronauts see Earth as precious, and they convey their affection for it well. Stott said she hopes that this will be the ultimate takeaway for viewers, for whom the series may serve as a reintroduction to the planet they thought they knew so well. “I hope that people will … appreciate and acknowledge the significance of [this reintroduction],” she said, “that it will result in an awareness and obligation to take care of each other.”
Editor’s note: This story was updated on March 19, 2018, to add a mention of a second executive producer.