Chemical transformations in minerals deep beneath the seafloor could explain why Indonesia’s 2004 mega-earthquake was unexpectedly destructive, researchers report in the May 26 Science.

The magnitude 9.2 quake and the tsunami that it triggered killed more than 250,000 people, flattened villages, and swept homes out to sea across Southeast Asia. It was one of the deadliest tsunamis in recorded history.

“It raised a whole bunch of questions, because that wasn’t a place in the world where we thought a magnitude 9 earthquake would occur,” says study coauthor Brandon Dugan, a geophysicist at the Colorado School of Mines in Golden.

The thick but stable layer of sediment where tectonic plates meet off the coast of the Indonesian island of Sumatra should have limited the power of an earthquake, seismologists had predicted. But instead, this quake was the third-strongest on record worldwide.
Dugan spent two months aboard a boat with 30 other scientists collaborating through the International Ocean Discovery Program. The researchers drilled down 1,500 meters below the seafloor in two places off the coast of Sumatra, extracting narrow cylinders of sediment. This sediment is very slowly moving toward the fault where the 2004 earthquake occurred — a zone where one massive tectonic plate slides over another, pushing that plate downward.

Analyzing how sediment changes with depth can give scientists a snapshot of the geological processes at play near the fault zone.

In particular, deep down, the researchers identified a layer of sediment where the water had a lower salinity than the water in the sediment above or below. Since seawater seeping into the sediment would be salty, the evidence of freshwater suggests that the water must have instead been released from within minerals in the sediment.

For tens of millions of years, Dugan proposes, minerals sat on the seafloor taking in water — baking it into their crystal structure. Then, more sediment settled on top. It got toasty under such a thick blanket of sediment, heating up the minerals beneath. The temperature increase triggered a chemical transformation within the sediment, pushing water out of the mineral crystals and into tiny pores between the grains.
The sediment sampled in this study is still dehydrating. By the time any of it reaches the plate boundary, Dugan says, it’ll be buried under kilometers of more sediment and will probably be completely dehydrated.

At first, the liberated water would have softened the material, actually decreasing the risk of a big earthquake by allowing it to absorb more force, Dugan says. As the sediment got closer to the fault over millions of years, though, the water flowed away, leaving it brittle and unstable — the perfect setup for a mega-quake.

The timing of this sediment dehydration process can make or break a quake. Had the sediment near the fault been in a softened state when the quake struck in 2004, the tremor might not have been as deadly, Dugan says. But since enough time had passed for it to become brittle again, the tectonic plates were able to rapidly slip past each other for a much greater distance during the quake. That massive motion displaced the seafloor itself, setting a tsunami into motion.
“It’s really the tsunamis from these earthquakes that prove to be the deadliest and most dangerous,” says Roland Bürgmann, a seismologist at the University of California, Berkeley who wasn’t part of the study. And quakes that displace the seafloor are far more likely to trigger tsunamis.

The findings could apply to other faults with similarly thick sediment, such as the Cascadia Subduction Zone in the Pacific Northwest, suggests study coauthor Andre Hüpers, a geophysicist at the University of Bremen in Germany.

But more evidence is needed before applying such analysis to faults beyond this one, says Bürgmann. The argument for what happened along the Sumatran fault is compelling, he says. “But nonetheless, it’s only one data point. It doesn’t yet make for a pattern.”

The first thing you’ll notice is the noise. Monitors beep steadily, relentlessly, ready to sound a car-alarm blare if a baby is in trouble.

The air has an astringent odor — not clean exactly, but reminiscent of an operating room (there’s one next door). Ceiling lights shine fluorescent white. Half are off, but glare from the monitors throws out extra light. It’s midday on a Friday, but it’ll be just as bright at midnight.

Here on the fourth floor of Yale New Haven Children’s Hospital, 10 tiny beds hold 10 tiny infants, each with Band-Aid–like patches stuck to their bodies to continuously monitor health. Between beds, nurses squeeze through narrow aisles crammed with folding chairs and plastic incubators. This space, one of five in the hospital’s neonatal intensive care unit, has the people and equipment needed to keep sick babies alive — heart rate monitors, oxygen tanks, IV poles to deliver medications.
Until recently, Yale’s NICU and hundreds like it across the country were considered the place to be for newborns withdrawing from opioid drugs. But now, as the number of drug-dependent babies surges, doctors here and elsewhere are searching for better options.

“We’re really focused on trying to get these kids out of the NICU,” says Yale pediatrician Matthew Grossman. “We’re looking at moms and the dads as the first line of treatment.”

The nationwide rate of babies withdrawing from opioids has soared — up nearly 400 percent from 2000 to 2012. The booming numbers are the bleak by-product of the United States’ ongoing battle with the drugs: Sales of prescription opioid pain relievers alone quadrupled from 1999 to 2010, and overdose deaths tripled from 2000 to 2014.
When pregnant women use opioids, the drugs pass from bloodstream to baby. After exposure in the womb to Vicodin, methadone or heroin, for example, babies can become dependent. At birth, when the drug flow stops, babies can go through agonizing withdrawal — body shakes, intestinal problems, constant crying. The condition is known as neonatal abstinence syndrome, or NAS.
But there’s no clear consensus on how to care for these struggling babies, Grossman says. Usually they’re whisked off to the NICU and treated with opioids. The drugs ease symptoms, but they prolong exposure to “really powerful and potentially dangerous medications,” he says.

At Yale, NAS babies used to spend weeks in the NICU — they still do in many U.S. hospitals. But in the last few years, Grossman and others have begun to question this method of care. Infants suffering from opioid withdrawal might actually do better back in parents’ arms, away from the high-tech hubbub. Comfort is key. Quiet, dark environments, swaddling, breastfeeding, rocking and holding, no unnecessary tests — it’s baby care 101.

That’s hard to do in the busy, loud NICU, says Grossman. Plus, there’s no place for parents to stay. They can visit, perched on folding chairs wedged between beds, says Yale pediatrician Rachel Osborn, but moms and dads “often feel like they’re extraneous and in the way.”

Faced with these and other obstacles, Grossman, Osborn and others are radically redefining their methods. They’re examining traditional practices, testing new ideas and getting back to basics. The results have been dramatic.

“We’re treating the families with respect and the babies like babies,” Grossman says. The parents have everything the baby needs, he says. “It’s not a whole lot more complicated than that.”
State of alarm
Maine, Vermont and West Virginia reported the highest rates of neonatal abstinence syndrome, opioid withdrawal linked to maternal drug use. Maine, Maryland, Massachusetts and Rhode Island rates are from 2012; the rest are 2013.

Click or tap the map below to learn more.
Tough going
Families today are much more likely to deal with opioid use — and its consequences for newborns — than they were a decade ago.

In 2004, NAS rates were consistently low across the country: For every 1,000 babies born, roughly one was diagnosed with NAS. By 2013, when pediatrician Nicole Villapiano and colleagues examined rural versus urban data, rates were up across the board. But rural areas had been hit the hardest, with nearly 8 per 1,000 babies diagnosed with NAS, the researchers reported in February in JAMA Pediatrics.

In an urban hospital near Rhode Island’s Providence River, Villapiano witnessed infant opioid withdrawal firsthand. She was first assigned to the newborn nursery service at Women and Infants Hospital in Providence in 2011. “I imagined it’d be a joyful time, seeing babies going off with their families, having wonderful lives.”

Reality quickly dashed that hopeful picture. On any given day, she might see several babies at a time struggling with withdrawal. “These children were miserable,” says Villapiano, now at the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor. “Their cries were persistent and their irritability was profound.”

NAS isn’t easy to define. Babies suffer a wide range of symptoms. They’re sweating, shaking, stiff. Stools are loose, eating and sleeping are difficult, and crankiness is common. Babies with NAS can also have breathing problems, seizures and low birth weights.

The syndrome was first described in heroin-exposed infants. Scientists now know that all sorts of opioids used during pregnancy can trigger the condition, including “maintenance” drugs like methadone or buprenorphine used to treat opioid addiction, and even painkillers commonly prescribed during pregnancy, such as codeine and hydrocodone.

Not all infants exposed to opioids in utero go through withdrawal — and exactly what conditions lead to NAS is still unclear. The particular opioid and how much a pregnant woman uses, whether she takes certain antidepressants and even the number of cigarettes she smokes per day all seem to factor in, Stephen Patrick of Vanderbilt University in Nashville and colleagues reported in Pediatrics in 2015. A nonsmoking woman on oxycodone for a few weeks, for example, might have roughly a 1 percent chance of delivering a baby with NAS. For a pack-a-day smoker on antidepressants and buprenorphine for six months, the risk could be more than 30 percent.

Because opioids are such a broad family of addictive drugs, opioid-using moms don’t fit neatly into one category, says Ju Lee Oei, a neonatologist at the University of New South Wales in Sydney. “We need to be aware that Mrs. Smith down the road who’s getting a bit of codeine for her back pain could have a baby with NAS,” Oei says.
Some women give birth to NAS babies while recovering from opioid addiction — even though they’re doing everything doctors advise, says pediatrician Alison Holmes of Children’s Hospital at Dartmouth-Hitchcock in Lebanon, N.H.

“Sometimes people think, ‘Oh, these mothers are such horrible addicts,’ ” Holmes says. But a lot of the time, “they’re staying on their methadone, they’re staying on their buprenorphine, they’re keeping symptoms under control — but their babies are still going to withdraw.”

No one knows exactly what opioid exposure does to fetal brains, or how these kids will fare in the future. Certain brain regions may not grow correctly, previous studies have suggested. Children can also have vision trouble and may develop behavior and attention problems. One long-term Australian study published in February linked a diagnosis of NAS with poor academic performance — all the way up to age 12 or 13.

Whether that’s caused by NAS is hard to say, says Oei, a coauthor of the study. Poverty, poor childhood nutrition and prenatal exposure to alcohol or other drugs could also come into play. But the results are a red flag for all those newly diagnosed babies. “You expect your baby to go to school and get good grades,” Oei says. But from as early as third grade, “these kids don’t seem to be able to do that.”

Still, research on NAS outcomes and potential treatments remains full of gaps, a 2015 report from the U.S. Government Accountability Office found. And there’s no nationally accepted treatment protocol for NAS. “Everyone’s doing it their own way,” says Scott Wexelblatt, a pediatrician at Cincinnati Children’s Hospital Medical Center.

Time for a change
The traditional way to assess NAS was published more than 40 years ago by neonatologist Loretta Finnegan, now at the College on Problems of Drug Dependence in Philadelphia. Every four to eight hours, sometimes more frequently, nurses evaluate symptoms using a detailed scoring list: the Finnegan Neonatal Abstinence Scoring System. Hit a certain score, and doctors will start up the withdrawal-easing opioids, typically morphine or methadone.
But there’s a push and pull between managing withdrawal and dosing babies with more drugs, Wexelblatt says. “We don’t want to expose babies to opioids unless we really need to.”

Care of NAS babies varies widely in hospitals across the United States, according to a study in the May–June Academic Pediatrics. Some newborns may be getting too much opioids. To see if standardizing care could help infants get off the drugs faster, Wexelblatt and colleagues trained nurses on Finnegan scoring and outlined a detailed protocol for weaning.

That simple step made a big difference. Hospitals that adopted the protocol cut infant stays from an average of 31.6 days before the intervention to 23.7 days afterward, Wexelblatt’s team reported in 2015 in Pediatrics. Duration of opioid treatment dropped as well. By 2016, hospital stays were down to 20 days, he says.

Now, 54 hospitals — almost all delivery hospitals in Ohio — use the weaning protocol, Wexelblatt says. The team has since refined its methods, focusing on family support and nonmedication options for care, like swaddling and breastfeeding. And as of 2013, every delivering mom in the Cincinnati region gets urine-tested for opioids upon admission so that care can start early, if needed. Ohio’s strategy is paying off: Doctors are using fewer opioids to treat NAS babies and the infants are getting out of the hospital faster too, early results suggest.

Researchers at Yale and Dartmouth-Hitchcock have also taken a hard look at the hospitals’ methods, starting with the Finnegan scoring system. Some aspects just didn’t make sense, Holmes and colleagues reported last June in Pediatrics. Nurses sometimes woke sleeping babies or removed them from family members’ arms for scoring, and they gave hungry babies points for crying.

“We said, ‘This is crazy,’ ” Holmes remembers. It makes more sense to just score the babies after they eat and while they’re being held. That way, she says, nurses might be able to sift the actual signs of withdrawal from the normal whines and wails of a hungry or tired baby.

Grossman and colleagues at Yale were skeptical too. Finnegan’s system looks for warning signs like vomiting and fever, but also gives points for sneezing and yawning. The final score guides doctors’ decision to dial meds up or down. “Is it truly best to give morphine to an infant who yawned 4 times instead of 3, as the [scoring system] guides us to do?” they asked in a Hospital Pediatrics commentary in February.

Grossman scoured the scientific literature, searching for clues to improve treatment. But research results bounced all over the place. “We ended up questioning everything,” he says. “It turned out there wasn’t really a good answer for anything we were doing.”
Family first
Around the same time Grossman was digging into research on opioid withdrawal in newborns, he had his first child, who screamed constantly. “I’m pacing in the middle of the night, thinking, if this was an NAS baby, he’d be on medication
immediately.”

Instead, Grossman paced and rocked and held his son — all of the tricks parents use to soothe a cranky newborn. As he found ways to settle the baby, he thought, what if NAS babies needed something similar?

The idea jibed with his experiences at the hospital. Sometimes withdrawing infants would do great for days—their moms were there, and Finnegan scores stayed low. But if moms had to leave, babies would backslide, and scores would rocket up again. “Do these kids need more mom or more meds?” Grossman and colleagues wondered. “We started to think, ‘Well, maybe it’s more mom.’ ”

At Dartmouth-Hitchcock, Holmes and her crew were coming up with their own ideas. The team stopped interpreting Finnegan scores so rigidly, for one. But their biggest change was keeping mothers and babies together, 24-7. It’s called “rooming-in,” and previous studies in Canada and other countries had suggested it might ease babies’ transition from the womb to the world.
“What withdrawing babies need is a calm, quiet, dark place where they can be held by a caring individual,” Holmes says. Her team focused on involving moms and families (and even volunteer cuddlers), and the hunch paid off. From 2012 to 2015, the average length of stay for morphine-treated NAS babies dropped from 16.9 days to 12.3 days. The fraction of babies given morphine plummeted too, from 46 percent to 27 percent. Now, two years later, that number has fallen even further — to just 20 percent, she says.

Holmes says her own kids joke about her work: “Babies like their mothers—surprise, surprise! What a discovery!” She laughs, and then adds, “They’re kind of right.”

Grossman’s team at Yale has pushed the family-focused approach even further. “Our mind-set is rooming-in on steroids,” he says. For NAS, parental care is considered more important—and more effective—than medication. Doctors ask parents: “How do we get you here or dad here or grandma here?” Grossman says. “Because that’s what your baby needs.”

His team rolled in other ideas too, like fortifying formula and pumped breast milk with extra calories. And hospital personnel stopped using Finnegan scores to guide medication dosing. Today, they base assessments on three simple parameters: whether an infant can eat, sleep and be consoled.

The patient rooms where parents can bunk with their babies are a world apart from the NICU. One room at Yale has a couch that converts into a bed and ceiling tiles with pictures of Elmo and Tweety Bird. Monitors are muted, nothing beeps incessantly and natural light pours in from the window. There’s plenty of space for parents to walk around and tend to their baby. In these rooms, “it feels like the parent is a necessary part of the care team,” Yale’s Osborn says.

In 2016, babies with NAS stayed in the Yale hospital just 5.9 days — a cliff dive compared with the 2008–2010 average of 22.4 days, Grossman, Osborn and colleagues reported online May 18 in Pediatrics. Even more staggering is the fraction of these babies treated with morphine: just 14 percent in 2016, down from 98 percent in 2008–2010.
Taking the plunge
From 2008 to 2016, the proportion of opioid-withdrawing infants treated with morphine at Yale New Haven Children’s Hospital dropped from 98 percent to 14 percent, a drastic reduction in the number of babies given the medication.

Click or tap the graph below to learn more.

Yale’s approach basically comes down to common sense, Grossman says: a quiet room, lots of holding, feeding when hungry and simply keeping babies with mom and dad. “It’s not rocket science,” he says. Medication became more of a plan B.

Still, other doctors looking to transform NAS treatment may run into barriers. Not all U.S. hospitals are set up like Dartmouth-Hitchcock or Yale New Haven, Wexelblatt says. There’s not always room for mom to stay with her baby once she’s released. And universal drug testing of moms won’t work everywhere, he warns. In Tennessee, a law passed in 2014 allowed new mothers to be prosecuted for using illegal drugs while pregnant if the newborn was harmed. The law expired last July, but such legislation drives women away from medical care, Wexelblatt says.

It could be that the best care for babies begins with care and compassion for moms. Rather than blame mothers, Holmes says, “We need to do as much as we can to support them in being good parents.”

Fossil DNA may be rewriting the history of elephant evolution.

The first genetic analysis of DNA from fossils of straight-tusked elephants reveals that the extinct animals most closely resembled modern African forest elephants. This suggests that straight-tusked elephants were part of the African, not Asian, elephant lineage, scientists report online June 6 in eLife.

Straight-tusked elephants roamed Europe and Asia until about 30,000 years ago. Much like modern Asian elephants, they sported high foreheads and double-domed skulls. These features convinced scientists for decades that straight-tusked and Asian elephants were sister species, says Adrian Lister, a paleobiologist at the Natural History Museum in London who was not involved in the study.
For the new study, researchers extracted and decoded DNA from the bones of four straight-tusked elephants found in Germany. The fossils ranged from around 120,000 to 240,000 years old. The genetic material in most fossils more than 100,000 years old is too decayed to analyze. But the elephant fossils were unearthed in a lake basin and a quarry, where the bones would have been quickly covered with sediment that preserved them, says study author Michael Hofreiter of the University of Potsdam in Germany.

Hofreiter’s team compared the ancient animals’ DNA with the genomes of the three living elephant species — Asian, African savanna and African forest — and found that straight-tusked genetics were most similar to African forest elephants.

When the researchers told elephant experts what they’d found, “Everybody was like, ‘This can’t possibly be true!’” says study coauthor Beth Shapiro of the University of California, Santa Cruz. “Then it gradually became, ‘Oh yeah, I see.… The way we’ve been thinking about this is wrong.’”

If straight-tusked elephants were closely related to African forest elephants, then the African lineage wasn’t confined to Africa — where all elephant species originated — as paleontologists previously thought. It also raises questions about why straight-tusked elephants bore so little resemblance to today’s African elephants, which have low foreheads and single-domed skulls.
Accounting for this new finding may not be as simple as moving one branch on the elephant family tree, Lister says. It’s possible that straight-tusked elephants really were a sister species of Asian elephants, but they exhibit genetic similarities to African forest elephants from interbreeding before the straight-tusked species left Africa.

It’s also possible that a common ancestor of Asian, African and straight-tusked elephants had particular genetic traits that were, for some reason, only retained by African and straight-tusked elephants, he says.

Lister and colleagues are now reexamining data on straight-tusked skeletons to reconcile the species’ skeletal features with the new information on their DNA. “I will feel most comfortable if we can understand these genetic relationships in terms of the [physical] differences between all these species,” he says. “Then we’ll have a complete story.”

BOSTON — Some aspects of speech are as Southern as pecan pie. Consider the vowel shift that makes the word pie sound more like “pah.” While that pronunciation is found from Florida to Texas, a new study reveals a surprising diversity in Southern vowel pronunciation that’s linked to a speaker’s age, social class, gender, race and geography.

The research, presented June 29 at a meeting of the Acoustical Society of America, could help software developers create better speech recognition tools for smartphones and other devices.
To understand the medley of southern vowel sounds, linguist Margaret Renwick of the University of Georgia in Athens dove into the Digital Archive of Southern Speech. The archive comprises almost 400 hours of interviews with 64 native Southerners representing a mix of ethnicities, social classes, education levels and ages.

Renwick’s analysis of more than 300,000 vowel sounds finds, for example, that Southern upper middle class women are often at the extreme end of variation in pronunciation. While Southern men and women are equally likely to shift the vowel in bet to “bay-ut,” upper middle class Southern women are more likely to stretch the vowel sound in bit to “bee-ut.” They are also most likely to pronounce bait as bite. The finding that women are more inclined to draw a sound out into two syllables — or change it entirely — is in line with other research suggesting that women are linguistic innovators, and less likely to adhere to the norms of standard American English, Renwick said.

For a glue that holds up inside the body, turn to the humble slug, Arion subfuscus. A new super-sticky material mimics slug slime’s ability to stick on slick wet surfaces and could lead to more effective medical adhesives.

The material has two parts: a sticky layer that attaches to a surface, and a shock-absorbing layer that reduces strain. That makes the adhesive less likely to snap off.

Researchers tested the material as a surgical adhesive in a number of different scenarios: It stuck to pig skin and liver. It latched on to a beating pig’s heart, even when the surface was coated in blood. It sealed up a heart defect, preventing liquid from leaking even when the organ was inflated and deflated tens of thousands of times. And it was less toxic in the body than a commonly used commercialized tissue adhesive, researchers report July 28 in Science.

The researchers hope the material could someday be used in surgical procedures in place of invasive sutures and staples.

Famously sneaky particles have been caught behaving in a new way.

For the first time, scientists have detected neutrinos scattering off the nucleus of an atom. The process, predicted more than four decades ago, provides a new way to test fundamental physics. It will also help scientists to better characterize the neutrino, a misfit particle that has a tiny mass and interacts so feebly with matter that it can easily sail through the entire Earth.
The detection, reported online August 3 in Science, “has really big implications,” says physicist Janet Conrad of MIT, who was not involved with the research. It fills in a missing piece of the standard model, the theory that explains how particles behave: The model predicts that neutrinos interact with nuclei. And, says Conrad, the discovery “opens up a whole new area of measurements” to further test the standard model’s predictions.

Scientists typically spot neutrinos when they interact with a single proton or neutron. But the new study measures “coherent” scattering, in which a low-energy neutrino interacts with an entire atomic nucleus at once, ricocheting away and causing the nucleus to recoil slightly in response.

“It’s exciting to measure it for the first time,” says physicist Kate Scholberg of Duke University, spokesperson for the collaboration — named COHERENT — that made the new finding.

In the past, neutrino hunters have built enormous detectors to boost their chances of catching a glimpse of the particles — a necessity because the aloof particles interact so rarely. While still rare, coherent neutrino scattering occurs more often than previously detected types of neutrino interactions. That means detectors can be smaller and still catch enough interactions to detect the process. COHERENT’s detector, a crystal of cesium and iodine, weighs only about 15 kilograms. “It’s the first handheld neutrino detector; you can just carry it around,” says physicist Juan Collar of the University of Chicago.

Collar, Scholberg and colleagues installed their detector at the Spallation Neutron Source at Oak Ridge National Laboratory in Tennessee. The facility generates bursts of neutrons and, as a by-product, produces neutrinos at energies that COHERENT’s detector can spot. When a nucleus in the crystal recoils due to a scattering neutrino, a flash of light appears and is captured by a light sensor. The signal of the recoiling nucleus is incredibly subtle — like detecting the motion of a bowling ball when hit by a ping-pong ball — which is why the effect remained undetected until now.
The amount of scattering the researchers saw agreed with the standard model. But such tests are still in their early stages, says physicist Leo Stodolsky of the Max Planck Institute for Physics in Munich, who was not involved with the research. “We’re looking forward to more detailed studies to see if it really is accurately in agreement with the expectations.” Physicists hope to find a place where the standard model breaks down, which could reveal new secrets of the universe. More precise tests may reveal discrepancies, he says. “That would be extremely interesting.”

Measuring coherent neutrino scattering could help scientists understand the processes that occur within exploding stars, or supernovas, which emit huge numbers of neutrinos (SN: 02/18/17, p. 24). The process could be used to detect supernovas as well — if a supernova explodes nearby, scientists could spot its neutrinos scattering off nuclei in their detectors.

Similar scattering might also help scientists detect dark matter, an invisible source of mass that pervades the universe. Dark matter particles could scatter off atomic nuclei just as neutrinos do, causing a recoil. The study indicates that such recoils are detectable — good news since several dark matter experiments are currently attempting to measure recoils of nuclei (SN: 11/12/16, p. 14). But it also suggests a looming problem: As dark matter detectors become more sensitive, neutrinos bouncing off the nuclei will swamp any signs of dark matter.

Coherent neutrino scattering detectors could lead to practical applications as well: Small-scale neutrino detectors could eventually detect neutrinos produced in nuclear reactors to monitor for attempts to develop nuclear weapons, for example.

Physicist Daniel Freedman of MIT, who predicted in 1974 that neutrinos would scatter off nuclei, is pleased that his prediction has finally been confirmed. “It’s a thrill.”

The 2011 tsunami that devastated Japan’s coast cast an enormous amount of debris out to sea — way out. Japanese marine life took advantage of the new floating real estate and booked a one-way trip to America. From 2012 to 2017, at least 289 living Japanese marine species washed up on the shores of North America and Hawaii, hitching rides on fishing boats, docks, buoys, crates and other nonbiodegradable objects, a team of U.S. researchers report in the Sept. 29 Science.

Organisms that surprisingly survived the harsh 7,000-kilometer journey across the Pacific Ocean on 634 items of tsunami debris ranged from 52-centimeter-long fish (a Western Pacific yellowtail amberjack) to microscopic single-celled protists. About 65 percent of the species have never been seen in North America’s Pacific waters. If these newcomers become established, they have the potential to become invasive, disrupting native marine habitats, says study coauthor James Carlton, a marine scientist at Williams College in Mystic, Conn.
Meet some of the slimiest, strangest and potentially most invasive marine castaways that took this incredible journey:

The Northern Pacific sea star (Asterias amurensis) is among the world’s most invasive species. Though this purple and yellow sea star is normally found in shallow habitats, it can live as deep as 200 meters.

Skeleton shrimp (Caprella cristibrachium and C. mutica (shown)) grasp onto algae with their strong rear claws, earning them the nickname “praying mantis of the sea.” These lanky amphipods can grow up to about 5 centimeters long and are found in the Sea of Japan.
A white, brittle Bryozoan (Biflustra grandicella) that can grow as big as a basketball is already invasive in Australia. The tiny swimming larvae of these sea creatures, also known as moss animals, may live up to a week, long enough to settle in to a new habitat.

Most of the wooden Japanese debris items collected carried at least one of seven species of large wormlike mollusks called Japanese shipworms (Psiloteredo sp.). Some of the more monstrous shipworms found, which bore into everything from wooden pilings to docks, had grown to about 50 centimeters long.
Five Japanese barred knifejaw fish (Oplegnathus fasciatus), also known as striped beakfish, were found trapped in the stern well of a Japanese fishing boat found beached in 2013 in Washington. These black-and-white striped fish are native to the Northwest Pacific Ocean and Hawaii. The well acted as a tide pool of sorts, sustaining the fish during their two-year journey.

The wavy-shelled slipper snail (Crepidula onyx), also known as a slipper limpet, has essentially come full circle in its journey around the Pacific Ocean. Native to the U.S. West Coast, the well-traveled snail became an invasive species in Japan, and now has returned to America on Japanese debris.

Campfire legends of massive, shaggy bipeds called yetis are grounded in a less mysterious truth: bears.

Eight samples of remains such as fur, bones and teeth purportedly from mountain-dwelling yetis actually come from three different kinds of bears that live in the Himalayas, researchers report November 29 in the Proceedings of the Royal Society B. A ninth sample turned out to come from a dog.

Previous analyses of smaller fragments of “yeti” DNA yielded controversial results. The new study looks at bigger chunks of DNA, analyzing the complete mitochondrial genomes from alleged yetis and comparing them with the mitochondrial genomes of various bears, including polar bears and Tibetan brown bears.
The results also give new insight into the genetic relationships between the different bears that call the Tibetan Plateau home, which could guide efforts to protect these rare subspecies. During a period of glaciation about 660,000 years ago, Himalayan brown bears were one of the first groups to branch off and become distinct from other brown bears, the data suggest.

Tibetan brown bears, on the other hand, share a more recent common ancestor with their relatives in Eurasia and North America. They might have migrated to the area around 340,000 years ago, but were probably kept geographically isolated from Himalayan brown bears by the rugged mountain terrain.

COLLEGE PARK, Md. — Campus life typically challenges students with new opportunities for learning, discovery — and intimacy with germs. Lots of germs.

That makes dormitories and their residents an ideal natural experiment to trace the germs’ paths. “You pack a bunch of college kids into a very small environment … we’re not known as being the cleanliest of people,” says sophomore Parker Kleb at the University of Maryland in College Park. Kleb is a research assistant for an ongoing study tracking the spread of respiratory viruses through a student population. The study’s goal is to better understand how these viruses move around, in order to help keep illness at bay — all the more pressing, as the current flu season is on track to be among the worst recorded in the United States.
Called “C.A.T.C.H. the Virus,” which stands for Characterizing and Tracking College Health, the study traces the trajectory of viral infections using blood samples, nasal swabs and breath samples from ailing freshmen and their closest contacts. (Tagline: It’s snot your average research study.)

Donald Milton, an environmental and occupational health physician-scientist, heads the project. On a recent day, he described the study to a classroom of freshmen he hopes to recruit. He ticked off questions this research seeks to answer: What is it that makes people susceptible to getting sick? What makes them contagious? And how do they transmit a virus to others? “Maybe your house, your room has something to do with whether you’re at risk of getting infected,” Milton said.

He had a receptive audience: members of the College Park Scholars’ Global Public Health program. Infection control is right up their alley. “How sick do we have to be?” one student asked. It’s the culprit that matters, she’s told. The study covers acute respiratory infections due to influenza viruses, adenoviruses, coronaviruses or respiratory syncytial virus, known as RSV.

Of most interest, however, is influenza. “Flu is important to everybody,” says Milton. Influenza is thought to spread among humans three ways — touch; coughing and sneezing, which launches droplets containing virus from the lungs onto surfaces; and aerosols, smaller droplets suspended in the air that could be inhaled (SN: 6/29/13, p. 9).
How much each of these modes of transmission contributes to the spread of viruses is a point of fierce debate, Milton says. And that makes infection control difficult, especially in hospitals. “If we don’t understand how [viruses] are transmitted, it’s hard to come up with policies that are really going to work.”
Milton and his colleagues recently reported that people with the flu can shed infectious virus particles just by breathing. Of 134 fine-aerosol samples taken when patients were breathing normally, 52 contained infectious influenza virus — or 39 percent, according to the study, published online January 18 in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences . Those fine-aerosol particles of respiratory tract fluid are 5 microns in diameter or less, small enough to stay suspended in the air and potentially contribute to airborne transmission of the flu, the researchers say.
“This could mean that just having good cough and sneeze etiquette — sneezing or coughing into tissues — may not be enough to limit the spread of influenza,” says virologist Andrew Pekosz at Johns Hopkins University, who was not involved with the study. “Just sitting in your office and breathing could fill the air with infectious influenza.”

The C.A.T.C.H. study aims to find out if what’s in the air is catching. In two University of Maryland dorms, carbon dioxide sensors measure how much of the air comes from people’s exhalations. In addition, laboratory tests measure how much virus sick students are shedding into the air. To get those samples, students sit in a ticket booth‒sized contraption called the Gesundheit-II and breathe into a giant cone. These data can help researchers estimate students’ airborne exposure to viruses, Milton says.

Another key dataset comes from DNA testing of the viruses infecting the students. “The virus mutates reasonably fast,” Milton says, so the more people it’s moved through, the more changes it will have. By combining this molecular chain of transmission with the social chain of transmission, the researchers will try to “establish who infected whom, and where, and how,” Milton says.

The goal is to enroll 130 students in C.A.T.C.H. It’s doubtful they’ll all get sick, but not that many students from this initial group are needed to start the ball rolling, says Jennifer German, a virologist and C.A.T.C.H. student engagement coordinator. “For every index case that has an infection we’re interested in, we’re following four additional contacts,” she says. “And then if any of those contacts becomes sick, we’ll get their contacts and so on.”

The study began in November 2017. As of the end of January, German says, researchers have collected samples from five sick students, but only one was infected with a target virus, influenza. The researchers now are following three contacts from that case.

But timing and the size of the current flu outbreak may be on the researchers’ side. Kleb, the research assistant, says that students are still waiting for this season’s flu to sweep through the dorms. “Once one person gets sick, it goes around to everyone on the floor,” he says. “I’m very interested to see what happens in the next few weeks, and how the study will hopefully benefit.”

A 13-sided shape known as “the hat” has mathematicians tipping their caps.

It’s the first true example of an “einstein,” a single shape that forms a special tiling of a plane: Like bathroom floor tile, it can cover an entire surface with no gaps or overlaps but only with a pattern that never repeats.

“Everybody is astonished and is delighted, both,” says mathematician Marjorie Senechal of Smith College in Northampton, Mass., who was not involved with the discovery. Mathematicians had been searching for such a shape for half a century. “It wasn’t even clear that such a thing could exist,” Senechal says.

Although the name “einstein” conjures up the iconic physicist, it comes from the German ein Stein, meaning “one stone,” referring to the single tile. The einstein sits in a weird purgatory between order and disorder. Though the tiles fit neatly together and can cover an infinite plane, they are aperiodic, meaning they can’t form a pattern that repeats.

With a periodic pattern, it’s possible to shift the tiles over and have them match up perfectly with their previous arrangement. An infinite checkerboard, for example, looks just the same if you slide the rows over by two. While it’s possible to arrange other single tiles in patterns that are not periodic, the hat is special because there’s no way it can create a periodic pattern.
Identified by David Smith, a nonprofessional mathematician who describes himself as an “imaginative tinkerer of shapes,” and reported in a paper posted online March 20 at arXiv.org, the hat is a polykite — a bunch of smaller kite shapes stuck together. That’s a type of shape that hadn’t been studied closely in the search for einsteins, says Chaim Goodman-Strauss of the National Museum of Mathematics in New York City, one of a group of trained mathematicians and computer scientists Smith teamed up with to study the hat.

It’s a surprisingly simple polygon. Before this work, if you’d asked what an einstein would look like, Goodman-Strauss says, “I would’ve drawn some crazy, squiggly, nasty thing.”

Mathematicians previously knew of nonrepeating tilings that involved multiple tiles of different shapes. In the 1970s, mathematician Roger Penrose discovered that just two different shapes formed a tiling that isn’t periodic (SN: 3/1/07). From there, “It was natural to wonder, could there be a single tile that does this?” says mathematician Casey Mann of the University of Washington Bothell, who was not involved with the research. That one has finally been found, “it’s huge.”
Other shapes have come close. Taylor-Socolar tiles are aperiodic, but they are a jumble of multiple disconnected pieces — not what most people think of as a single tile. “This is the first solution without asterisks,” says mathematician Michaël Rao of CNRS and École Normale Supérieure de Lyon in France.

Smith and colleagues proved that the tile was an einstein in two ways. One came from noticing that the hats arrange themselves into larger clusters, called metatiles. Those metatiles then arrange into even larger supertiles, and so on indefinitely, in a type of hierarchical structure that is common for tilings that aren’t periodic. This approach revealed that the hat tiling could fill an entire infinite plane, and that its pattern would not repeat.

The second proof relied on the fact that the hat is part of a continuum of shapes: By gradually changing the relative lengths of the sides of the hat, the mathematicians were able to form a family of tiles that can take on the same nonrepeating pattern. By considering the relative sizes and shapes of the tiles at the extremes of that family — one shaped like a chevron and the other reminiscent of a comet — the team was able to show that the hat couldn’t be arranged in a periodic pattern.
While the paper has yet to be peer-reviewed, the experts interviewed for this article agree that the result seems likely to hold up to detailed scrutiny.

Nonrepeating patterns can have real-world connections. Materials scientist Dan Shechtman won the 2011 Nobel Prize in chemistry for his discovery of quasicrystals, materials with atoms arranged in an orderly structure that never repeats, often described as analogs to Penrose’s tilings (SN: 10/5/11). The new aperiodic tile could spark further investigations in materials science, Senechal says.

Similar tilings have inspired artists, and the hat appears to be no exception. Already the tiling has been rendered artistically as smiling turtles and a jumble of shirts and hats. Presumably it’s only a matter of time before someone puts hat tiles on a hat.

The new aperiodic monotile discovered by Dave Smith, Joseph Myers, Craig Kaplan, and Chaim Goodman-Strauss, rendered as shirts and hats. The hat tiles are mirrored relative to the shirt tiles. pic.twitter.com/BwuLUPVT5a

— Robert Fathauer (@RobFathauerArt) March 21, 2023
And the hat isn’t the end. Researchers should continue the hunt for additional einsteins, says computer scientist Craig Kaplan of the University of Waterloo in Canada, a coauthor of the study. “Now that we’ve unlocked the door, hopefully other new shapes will come along.”