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A weird new particle imitator flouts the established rules of particle physics. The discovery could help scientists simulate how particles behaved just after the Big Bang or lead to the development of new devices with unusual electromagnetic properties.

The curious new phenomenon involves a particle-like entity called a quasiparticle, formed from a jostling mosh pit of electrons that collectively act like a single particle in a solid. Found in a compound of lanthanum, aluminum and germanium, the new quasiparticle is a bit of a renegade, physicist M. Zahid Hasan of Princeton University and colleagues report June 2 in Science Advances. Known as a type-II Weyl fermion, the quasiparticle breaks a rule called Lorentz symmetry, which states that the laws of physics are the same no matter the observer’s perspective, whether moving or stationary.
Lorentz symmetry is the foundation of Einstein’s special theory of relativity, which details the physics of observers zipping along near the speed of light. For a real particle, violating Lorentz symmetry would be an unallowable faux pas, but for quasiparticles, the rules are looser, so type-II Weyl fermions can behave in a way a normal particle wouldn’t.

Fermions are a class of elementary particle that includes quarks, which make up protons and neutrons, and electrons. There are three different types of fermions: Dirac, Majorana and Weyl. Dirac fermions are the garden-variety type and include electrons and quarks. Majorana fermions are their own antiparticles. Neutrinos, notoriously lightweight and elusive particles, could be either Majorana or Dirac fermions; scientists aren’t yet sure which.

Weyl fermions are a massless variety of fermion. No examples have been found in particle physics. But the quasiparticle version of Weyl fermions burst onto the scene in 2015, when scientists first discovered them in a compound made of tantalum and arsenic (SN: 8/22/15, p. 11). Soon, scientists realized that their Lorentz-violating relatives, type-II Weyl fermions, might likewise pop up in solids.

In the new study, Hasan and colleagues measured the relationship between the energy and momentum of the quasiparticles, showing that they were consistent with type-II Weyl fermions. Although previous experiments have shown hints of the unusual quasiparticles, those measurements were skin-deep, assessing particles only on the surface of the material, Hasan says. With surface measurements alone, it’s hard to confirm the type-II Weyl fermions are there, says physicist Alexey Soluyanov of ETH Zurich. But Hasan and colleagues peered inside the material. “Experimentally, this work really is a nice example,” Soluyanov says.

In solids, Weyl fermions lead to unusual behavior. Put a normal material in a magnetic field, and resistance to the flow of electricity grows, but in a solid with Weyl fermions, a magnetic field makes current flow more easily. Type-II Weyl fermions are even stranger, due to their Lorentz-violating properties. In a material with these quasiparticles, a magnetic field in one direction can increase conductivity, while in another direction it can decrease conductivity. “This type of thing can have interesting applications,” says Hasan. “In a single material, just by changing the direction of the field, now we can get different behaviors,” flipping between insulating and conducting, for example.
The new material could also provide insight for particle physicists. “Of course, people have wondered what happens when you break Lorentz invariance,” says physicist Adolfo Grushin of Institut Néel in Grenoble, France. Type-II Weyl fermions could help scientists better understand theories that violate the rule. “It’s a good test-bed,” says Grushin.

For example, Hasan says, “we can test theoretical ideas in the early universe,” simulating how particles may have behaved just after the Big Bang, when Lorentz symmetry may not have been obeyed.

PORTLAND, ORE. — A great flower shape for a moth trying to get a drink in the dark turns out to be awful from the plant’s point of view.

Offering hawk moths (Manduca sexta) a range of 3-D printed flowers with different curvatures shows that a moderately curved trumpet shape lets moths sip most efficiently, Foen Peng reported June 24 at the Evolution 2017 meeting. That’s a win for a nocturnal flying insect searching for nectar.
Yet drinking ease wasn’t best for the plant. During swift sips, the moths did less inadvertent bumping against the artificial flowers’ simulated sex organs than moths struggling to sip from an inconvenient shape. Less contact with real flower parts would mean less delivery and pickup of pollen.

Peng, of the University of Washington in Seattle, offered the moths three other shapes besides the gently curved trumpet. The best for the plant was a flat-topped “flower” with a right angle drop to a nectar well in the center. Previous work suggested that lack of curves made it very difficult for hawk moths hovering above a flower and extending their tonguelike proboscises to tap and probe the way to nectar in dim light.

Pollination at first glance may look like an easy mutualism evolving with the best interests of both plant and pollinator. But these experiments reveal a hidden, underlying conflict, Peng said.

Out-of-whack microbes in the vagina can raise HIV risk — and now there’s evidence that the makeup of the penis microbiome matters, too. The greater the number of anaerobic bacteria tucked under the foreskin, the more likely an uncircumcised man is to become infected with the virus, researchers report July 25 in mBio.

“This mirrors what’s been seen in women, but it’s the first study of its kind in men,” says Deborah Anderson, a microbiologist and gynecologist at Boston University School of Medicine.
The data come from heterosexual Ugandan men followed for two years as part of a larger study on circumcision. Researchers swabbed the men’s penises to collect bacteria samples at the beginning of the two-year study. Then they compared the penile bacterial composition of the 46 uncircumcised men who became infected with HIV over the course of the study with that of 136 uncircumcised men who didn’t.

The total amount of penile bacteria didn’t differ, but men with higher levels of anaerobic bacteria were more likely to have contracted HIV, researchers found. Having 10 times more Prevotella, Dialister, Finegoldia and Peptoniphilus bacteria raised the risk of contracting HIV by 54 to 63 percent after controlling for other factors that might affect risk, such as condom use habits and number of sexual partners.

The results might help explain why circumcision cuts the risk of HIV, says Thomas Hope, a cell biologist at Northwestern University Feinberg School of Medicine in Chicago: Removing the flap of foreskin takes away a moist hideout for bacteria that thrive in oxygen-starved environments. But, Hope cautions, the study only draws an association between the microbiome and HIV — not necessarily a cause and effect.

It’s not clear how certain bacteria might raise HIV risk, but the new study revealed one possible clue: Men with more anaerobic penis bacteria also had higher levels of inflammatory cytokine proteins, which call immune cells to the scene.

“Specific bacteria might cause inflammatory response that would cause the immune cells to congregate in the penis, where they’re more likely to be exposed to the virus,” says study coauthor Cindy Liu, a pathologist at George Washington University in Washington, D.C. HIV targets particular immune cells, so recruiting an immune response to the penis might have an unintended consequence — a free ferry ride for the virus into the bloodstream.
Liu and colleagues hope to test that explanation more thoroughly by looking at tissue samples from circumcised foreskins, and seeing whether there’s a relationship between the penis microbiome and the kinds of immune cells found in the foreskin.

Some of these same bacteria are also linked to increased HIV risk in women, and the microbes can be swapped between partners during sex. While practicing safe sex is still the best HIV-prevention strategy, topical creams that adjust the bacterial balance on the penis might someday help lower the risk of infection, Liu says.

In fishes as familiar as tunas, humans have managed to find some unknown anatomy: a hydraulic system based on lymph.

Often the underdogs of body parts, vertebrate lymph systems can do vital chores such as fight disease but rarely get the attention that blood systems do. Yet it turns out to be lymph, not blood, that rushes into two sickle-shaped tuna fins and fans them wide during complex swimming maneuvers, says Barbara Block of Stanford University.
Tuna bodies are relatively “stiff and only wag at the tail,” she says. That’s efficient for long-distance cruising. For zigs and zags, Pacific bluefin and yellowfin tunas get extra control from muscles, bones and lymph tweaking the shape of a fin on the back and its counterpart underneath, Block and colleagues report in the July 21 Science.

Among other tests, the researchers injected a tuna specimen with blue liquid that highlighted a complex of channels near and within the fins. Injecting a saline solution into the channels raised or lowered the fins depending on the pressure. Immunological and other tests confirmed that it’s lymph that changes the fin shape.

Lymph shape-changing also evolved in birds — but in a different way. Lymph, not blood, inflates the penis in ducks, emus, chickens and probably other birds that have such an organ, notes Patricia Brennan of the University of Massachusetts Amherst, who studies the evolution of sexual organs. Whether a male tuna would similarly use lymph, however, is a hypothetical question: Tunas didn’t evolve a penis.

For flowers, too much light at night could lead to a pollination hangover by day.

Far from any urban street, researchers erected street lights in remote Swiss meadows to mimic the effects of artificial light pollution. In fields lit during the night, flowers had 62 percent fewer nocturnal visitors than flowers in dark meadows, researchers report August 2 in Nature.

For one of the most common flowers, daytime pollination didn’t make up for nightly losses, says ecologist Eva Knop of the University of Bern in Switzerland. In a detailed accounting of the pollination life of cabbage thistles (Cirsium oleraceum), Knop and colleagues found that night-lit plants produced 13 percent fewer seeds overall than counterparts in naturally dark places.
Night lights could affect the entire network of plants and pollinators, the team suggests. In the test fields, nighttime pollination wasn’t just the business of a few kinds of specialized moth-loving plants. Flowers that fed a wide range of nighttime visitors also attracted a broad buzzing circus of different kinds of daytime pollinators. If the daytime insects don’t make up for nocturnal losses, a flower’s population might dwindle. And a lot of insects, both day and night, might then feel the loss of nectar and foliage, Knop says.

More than 80 percent of flower species get some help from animals in making seeds, and none evolved with light after sundown. “I hope people start to realize that it’s really something that changes the whole ecosystem,” Knop says.
The new study is the first to show how artificial light affects plants’ ability to make seeds, she says. The test is also unusual because it considers all kinds of insect pollinators instead of focusing on, say, only night-flying moths.
This big-picture view was so not easy to achieve. Finding possible dead-dark sites in highly developed Europe to set up LED lamps was impossible, so researchers worked in 14 dark-as-possible, remote meadows in land rising toward the Alps. But that created a problem. “If you don’t have light, you don’t have power,” Knop points out. To avoid generator growls and smells confounding their results, researchers painstakingly scouted sites where possible near water-powered energy sources and overall used “really long cables.”
For the sites with natural night, researchers measured pollination by patrolling set paths and catching any insect wriggling on a flower — in complete darkness, of course. The team used night-vision goggles but still didn’t have a perfect view, she says. It’s “not that easy to catch insects without three-dimensional vision.”

Besides paying special attention to the commonly visited cabbage thistle, researchers pieced together the whole network of which pollinator species visited which plant species day or night. Analysis of this Matterhorn of data suggested that changes in the night crew could affect daytime meadows.

The idea that night light could have broad knock-on effects on daytime pollinators is still speculation at this point, says ecologist Darren Evans of Newcastle University in England, who also studies light pollution and pollination. But the risk of such spillover warrants more attention.

A boy who lived in what’s now South Africa nearly 2,000 years ago has lent a helping genome to science. Using the long-gone youngster’s genetic instruction book, scientists have estimated that humans emerged as a distinct population earlier than typically thought, between 350,000 and 260,000 years ago.

The trick was retrieving a complete version of the ancient boy’s DNA from his skeleton to compare with DNA from people today and from Stone Age Neandertals and Denisovans. Previously documented migrations of West African farmers to East Africa around 2,000 years ago, and then to southern Africa around 1,500 years ago, reshaped Africans’ genetics — and obscured ancient ancestry patterns — more than has been known, the researchers report online September 28 in Science.
The ancient boy’s DNA was not affected by those migrations. As a result, it provides the best benchmark so far for gauging when Homo sapiens originated in Africa, evolutionary geneticist Carina Schlebusch of Uppsala University in Sweden and her colleagues conclude.

In line with the new genetically derived age estimate for human origins, another team has proposed that approximately 300,000-year-old fossils found in northwestern Africa belonged to H. sapiens (SN: 7/8/17, p. 6). Some researchers suspect a skull from South Africa’s Florisbad site, dated to around 260,000 years ago, qualifies as H. sapiens. But investigators often place our species’ origins close to 200,000 years ago (SN: 2/26/05, p. 141). There is broad consensus that several fossils from that time represent H. sapiens.

Debate over the timing of human origins will continue despite the new evidence from the child, whose remains came from previous shoreline excavations near the town of Ballito Bay, says Uppsala University evolutionary geneticist and study coauthor Mattias Jakobsson. “We don’t know if early Homo sapiens fossils or the Florisbad individual were genetically related to the Ballito Bay boy,” he says.

Thus, the precise timing of humankind’s emergence, and exact patterns of divergence among later human populations, remain unclear. Researchers have yet to retrieve DNA from fossils dating between 200,000 and 300,000 years old that either securely or possibly belong to H. sapiens.
However early human evolution played out, later mixing and mingling of populations had a big genetic impact. DNA evidence from more recent fossils, including those studied by Schlebusch’s group, increasingly suggests that Stone Age human groups migrated from one part of Africa to another and mated with each other along the way (SN: 10/20/12, p. 9), says Harvard Medical School evolutionary geneticist Pontus Skoglund. In the Sept. 21 Cell, he and his colleagues report that DNA from 16 Africans, whose remains date to between 8,100 and 400 years ago, reveals a shared ancestry among hunter-gatherers from East Africa to South Africa that existed before West African farmers first arrived 2,000 years ago.

That ancient set of common genes still comprises a big, varying chunk of the DNA of present-day Khoisan people in southern Africa, Skoglund’s group found. Earlier studies found that the Khoisan — consisting of related San hunter-gatherer and Khoikhoi herding groups — display more genetic diversity than any other human population.

Schlebusch’s team estimates that a genetic split between the Khoisan and other Africans occurred roughly 260,000 years ago, shortly after humankind’s origins and around the time of the Florisbad individual. Khoisan people then diverged into two genetically distinct populations around 200,000 years ago, the researchers calculate.

Ancient DNA in Schlebusch’s study came from seven individuals unearthed at six South African sites. Three hunter-gatherers, including the Ballito Bay boy, lived about 2,000 years ago. Four farmers lived between 500 and 300 years ago.

Comparisons to DNA from modern populations in Africa and elsewhere indicated that between 9 percent and 30 percent of Khoisan DNA today comes from an East African population that had already interbred with Eurasian people. Those East Africans were likely the much-traveled farmers who started out in West Africa and reached southern Africa around 1,500 years ago, the researchers propose.

For Chong Liu, asking a scientific question is something like placing a bet: You throw all your energy into tackling a big and challenging problem with no guarantee of a reward. As a student, he bet that he could create a contraption that photosynthesizes like a leaf on a tree — but better. For the now 30-year-old chemist, the gamble is paying off.

“He opened up a new field,” says Peidong Yang, a chemist at the University of California, Berkeley who was Liu’s Ph.D. adviser. Liu was among the first to combine bacteria with metals or other inorganic materials to replicate the energy-generating chemical reactions of photosynthesis, Yang says. Liu’s approach to artificial photosynthesis may one day be especially useful in places without extensive energy infrastructure.

Liu first became interested in chemistry during high school, and majored in the subject at Fudan University in Shanghai. He recalls feeling frustrated in school when he would ask questions and be told that the answer was beyond the scope of what he needed to know. Research was a chance to seek out answers on his own. And the problem of artificial photosynthesis seemed like something substantial to throw himself into — challenging enough “so [I] wouldn’t be jobless in 10 or 15 years,” he jokes.
Photosynthesis is a simple but powerful process: Sunlight helps transform carbon dioxide and water into chemical energy stored in the chemical bonds of sugar molecules. But in nature, the process isn’t particularly efficient, converting just 1 percent of solar energy into chemical energy. Liu thought he could do better with a hybrid system.
The efficiency of natural photosynthesis is limited by light-absorbing pigments in plants or bacteria, he says. People have designed materials that absorb light far more efficiently. But when it comes to transforming that light energy into fuel, bacteria shine.

“By taking a hybrid approach, you leverage what each side is better at,” says Dick Co, managing director of the Solar Fuels Institute at Northwestern University in Evanston, Ill.

Liu’s early inspiration was an Apollo-era attempt at a life-support system for manned space missions. The idea was to use inorganic materials with specialized bacteria to turn astronauts’ exhaled carbon dioxide into food. But early attempts never went anywhere.

“The efficiency was terribly low, way worse than you’d expect from plants,” Liu says. And the bacteria kept dying — probably because other parts of the system were producing molecules that were toxic to the bacteria.

As a graduate student, Liu decided to use his understanding of inorganic chemistry to build a system that would work alongside the bacteria, not against them. He first designed a system that uses nanowires coated with bacteria. The nanowires collect sunlight, much like the light-absorbing layer on a solar panel, and the bacteria use the energy from that sunlight to carry out chemical reactions that turn carbon dioxide into a liquid fuel such as isopropanol.

As a postdoctoral fellow in the lab of Harvard University chemist Daniel Nocera, Liu collaborated on a different approach. Nocera had been working on a “bionic leaf” in which solar panels provide the energy to split water into hydrogen and oxygen gases. Then, Ralstonia eutropha bacteria consume the hydrogen gas and pull in carbon dioxide from the air. The microbes are genetically engineered to transform the ingredients into isopropanol or another liquid fuel. But the project faced many of the same problems as other bacteria-based artificial photosynthesis attempts: low efficiency and lots of dead bacteria.
“Chong figured out how to make the system extremely efficient,” Nocera says. “He invented biocompatible catalysts” that jump-start the chemical reactions inside the system without killing off the fuel-generating bacteria. That advance required sifting through countless scientific papers for clues to how different materials might interact with the bacteria, and then testing many different options in the lab. In the end, Liu replaced the original system’s problem catalysts — which made a microbe-killing, highly reactive type of oxygen molecule — with cobalt-phosphorus, which didn’t bother the bacteria.

Chong is “very skilled and open-minded,” Nocera says. “His ability to integrate different fields was a big asset.”

The team published the results in Science in 2016, reporting that the device was about 10 times as efficient as plants at removing carbon dioxide from the air. With 1 kilowatt-hour of energy powering the system, Liu calculated, it could recycle all the carbon dioxide in more than 85,000 liters of air into other molecules that could be turned into fuel. Using different bacteria but the same overall setup, the researchers later turned nitrogen gas into ammonia for fertilizer, which could offer a more sustainable approach to the energy-guzzling method used for fertilizer production today.

Soil bacteria carry out similar reactions, turning atmospheric nitrogen into forms that are usable by plants. Now at UCLA, Liu is launching his own lab to study the way the inorganic components of soil influence bacteria’s ability to run these and other important chemical reactions. He wants to understand the relationship between soil and microbes — not as crazy a leap as it seems, he says. The stuff you might dig out of your garden is, like his approach to artificial photosynthesis, “inorganic materials plus biological stuff,” he says. “It’s a mixture.”

Liu is ready to place a new bet — this time on re-creating the reactions in soil the same way he’s mimicked the reactions in a leaf.

Evidence is piling up that much of the universe’s missing matter is lurking along the strands of a vast cosmic web.

A pair of papers report some of the best signs yet of hot gas in the spaces between galaxy clusters, possibly enough to represent the half of all ordinary matter previously unaccounted for. Previous studies have hinted at this missing matter, but a new search technique is helping to fill in the gaps in the cosmic census where other efforts fell short. The papers were published online at arXiv.org on September 15 and September 29.
Two independent teams stacked images of hundreds of thousands of galaxies on top of one another to reveal diffuse filaments of gas connecting pairs of galaxies across millions of light-years. Measuring how the gas distorted the background light of the universe let the researchers determine the mass of ordinary matter, or baryons, that it held — the protons and neutrons that make up atoms.

“It’s a very important problem,” says Dominique Eckert of the Max Planck Institute for Extraterrestrial Physics in Garching, Germany, who has searched for the missing matter via X-rays emitted by individual strands. “If you want to understand how galaxies form and how everything forms within a galaxy, you have to understand the evolution of the baryon content.” That starts with knowing where it is.

About 85 percent of the matter in the universe is mysterious, invisible stuff called dark matter, which physicists have yet to find (SN Online: 9/6/17). Weirdly, about half of the ordinary matter is also unaccounted for. When astronomers look around at the galaxies in the nearest few billion light-years, they find only about half the baryons that should have been produced in the Big Bang.

The rest is probably hiding in long filaments of gas that connect galaxy clusters in a vast cosmic web (SN: 3/8/14, p. 8). Previous attempts to find the baryons focused on X-rays emitted by gas in the filaments (SN Online: 8/4/15) or on the light of distant quasars filtering through these cobwebby strands (SN: 5/13/00, p. 310). But those efforts were either inconclusive, or were sensitive to such a narrow range of gas temperatures that they missed much of the matter.

Now there might be a way to find the rest. Two groups — cosmologist Hideki Tanimura, who did the work while at the University of British Columbia in Vancouver, and his colleagues, and Anna de Graaff of the University of Edinburgh and her colleagues — have sought the missing matter in a new way. Both teams found a way to look through the gas all the way back to the oldest light in the universe.
“Filamentary gas is very difficult to detect, but now we have a technique to detect it,” says Tanimura, now with the Institute of Space Astrophysics in Orsay, France.

That ancient light, called the cosmic microwave background, was emitted 380,000 years after the Big Bang. When this light passes though clouds of electrons in space — such as those found in filaments of hot gas — it gets deflected and distorted in a specific way. The Planck satellite released an all-sky map of these distortions in 2015 (SN: 3/21/15, p. 7).

Tanimura and de Graaff separately figured that there would be more distortion along the filaments than in empty space. To locate the filaments, both teams chose pairs of galaxies from the Sloan Digital Sky Survey catalog that were at least 20 million light-years apart. De Graaff’s team chose roughly a million pairs, and Tanimura’s team chose 262,864 pairs. Both teams assumed that the galaxies were not part of the same cluster, but that they should be connected by a filament.

The filaments were still too faint to see individually, so the teams used software to layer all the images and subtracted out distortion from electrons in the galaxies to see what was left. Both saw a residual distortion in the cosmic microwave background, which they attribute to the filaments.

Next, de Graaff’s team calculated that those filaments account for 30 percent of the total baryon content of the universe. That’s surely an underestimate, since they didn’t examine every filament in the universe, the team writes — the rest of the missing matter is probably there too.

“Both groups here took the obvious first step,” says Michael Shull of the University of Colorado Boulder, who was not involved in the new studies. “I think they’re on the right track.” But he worries that the gas they see might have been ejected from galaxies at high speeds, and so not actually the missing matter at all.

Eckert also worries that the gas may belong more to the galaxies than to their intergalactic tethers. Future observations of the composition of the gas, as well as more sensitive X-ray observations, could help solve that part of the puzzle.

MINNEAPOLIS — Birds don’t need to be drenched in crude oil to be harmed by spills and leaks.

Ingesting even small amounts of oil can interfere with the animals’ normal behavior, researchers reported November 15 at the annual meeting of the Society of Environmental Toxicology and Chemistry North America. Birds can take in these smaller doses by preening slightly greasy feathers or eating contaminated food, for example.

Big oil spills, such as the 2010 Deepwater Horizon disaster, leave a trail of dead and visibly oily birds (SN: 4/18/15, p. 22). But incidents like last week’s 5,000-barrel spill from the Keystone pipeline — and smaller spills that don’t make national headlines — can also impact wildlife, even if they don’t spur dramatic photos.
To test how oil snacks might affect birds, researchers fed zebra finches small amounts of crude oil or peanut oil for two weeks, then analyzed the birds’ blood and behavior. Birds fed the crude oil were less active and spent less time preening their feathers than birds fed peanut oil, said study coauthor Christopher Goodchild, an ecotoxicologist at Oklahoma State University in Stillwater.

Oil-soaked birds will often preen excessively to try to remove the oil, sometimes at the expense of other important activities such as feeding. But in this case, the birds didn’t have any crude oil on their feathers, so the decrease in preening is probably a sign they’re not feeling well, the researchers say.

Exactly how the oil affects the birds’ activity levels isn’t clear. Researchers suspected that oil might deprive birds of oxygen by affecting hemoglobin, which carries oxygen in the blood. Blood tests didn’t turn up any evidence of damaged hemoglobin proteins but did find some evidence that oil-sipping birds might be anemic, Goodchild said. At the higher of two crude oil doses, birds’ blood contained less hemoglobin per red blood cell, a sign of anemia.
The findings, while preliminary, add to a growing pile of evidence that estimates of the number of animals impacted by oil spills might be too low. For instance, even a light sheen of oil on sandpipers’ wings makes it harder to fly, costing birds more energy, a different group of researchers reported earlier this year. That could affect everything from birds’ daily movements to long-distance migration.

Movies and other media are full of mixed messages about the risks and rewards of building machines with minds of their own. For every manipulative automaton like Ex Machina’s Ava (SN: 5/16/15, p. 26), there’s a helpful Star Wars droid. And while some tech titans such as Elon Musk warn of the threats artificial intelligence presents, others, including Mark Zuckerberg, dismiss the doomsayers.

AI researcher Toby Walsh’s Machines That Think is for anyone who has heard the hype and is seeking a critical assessment of what the technology can do — and what it might do in the future. Walsh’s conversational style is welcoming to nonexperts while his endnotes point readers to opportunities for deeper dives into specific aspects of AI.
Walsh begins with a history of AI, from Aristotle’s foundation of formal logic to modern facial-recognition systems. Excerpts from computer-composed poetry and tales of computers trouncing humans at strategy games (SN: 11/11/17, p. 13) are a testament to how far AI has come. But Walsh also highlights weaknesses, such as machine-learning algorithms’ reliance on so much data to master a single task.

This 30,000-foot view of AI research packs a lot of history, as well as philosophical and technical explanation. Walsh personalizes the account with stories of his own programming experiences, anecdotes about AI in daily life — like his daughter’s use of Siri — and his absolute, unapologetic love of puns.

Later in the book, Walsh speculates about technical hurdles that may curb further AI development and legal limits that society may want to impose. He also explores the societal impact that increasingly intelligent computers may have.
For instance, Walsh evaluates how likely various jobs are to be outsourced to AI. Some occupations, like journalist, will almost certainly be automated, he argues. Others, like oral surgeon, are probably safe. For future job security, Walsh recommends pursuing careers that require programming acumen, emotional intelligence or creativity.

AI also has the potential to revolutionize warfare. “Like Moore’s law, we are likely to see exponential growth in the capabilities of autonomous weapons,” Walsh writes. “I have named this ‘Schwarzenegger’s law’ to remind us of where it will end.” Walsh isn’t resigned to a Terminator-like future, though. If governments ban killer robots and arms developers use automation to enhance defensive equipment, he believes military AI could actually save many lives.

In fact, Walsh argues, all aspects of AI’s future impacts are in our hands. “Artificial intelligence can lead us down many different paths, some good and some bad,” he writes. “Society must choose which path to take.”