The solar system doesn’t have a long, twisted tail after all.
Data from the Cassini and Voyager spacecraft show that the bubble of particles surrounding the solar system is spherical, not comet-shaped. Observing a spherical bubble runs counter to 55 years of speculation on the shape of this solar system feature, says Tom Krimigis of the Johns Hopkins Applied Physics Laboratory in Laurel, Md. He and colleagues report the result online April 24 in Nature Astronomy. “You can’t really argue with the new result,” says Merav Opher of Boston University, who was not involved in the study. “The data so loudly say that there is no tail.”
The bubble, called the heliosphere, is inflated by particles streaming from the sun and envelops all of the material in the solar system. Its shape is important because it provides clues about how the solar system interacts with interstellar space.
In the 1960s, researchers proposed that the heliosphere was either shaped like a comet or was spherical. Magnetic fields surrounding the sun and the planets look sort of like comets, with long tails extending behind them. So, scientists speculated that the heliosphere would have a tail, too. In 2013, data from the Interstellar Boundary Explorer, or IBEX, spacecraft found signs that the tail assumption was right. The probe counted the number of fast-moving atoms that are thought to be kicked inward from the edge of the solar system when they collide with charged particles from the sun. Detecting those atoms offers clues to the shape of the heliosphere, and the images suggested that solar system had a long, twisted tail that looked like a four-leaf clover (SN: 8/24/13, p. 9).
But it wasn’t clear from the data exactly how far away from the spacecraft the atoms were and therefore how far the heliosphere’s tail extended, Krimigis says. By combining more than a decade’s worth of data from the Voyager and Cassini probes, he and colleagues sought a clearer picture. The team specifically tracked how the abundance of the speedy atoms changed in different parts of the heliosphere as the intensity of charged particles streaming from the sun, the solar wind, waxed and waned.
At the front of the heliosphere, where the Voyager probes sit, when the intensity of the solar wind decreased, so did the abundance of speedy atoms. When it increased, the number went up, in lockstep. Looking at speedy atoms at the back of the heliosphere, the team saw the same changes. If there were a long tail, Krimigis says, the changes in the number of atoms wouldn’t be the same in both directions. Because the atoms would have farther to travel in a tail, it would take longer for their abundance to build up there again.
While the observational evidence now favors a spherical shape for the heliosphere, recent simulations suggest something more exotic. The bubble might actually be shaped like a croissant, Opher says. The simulations, which incorporate data from Voyager 1, show that the interaction of the magnetic fields from the sun and interstellar space squish the solar wind into two jets — what might be observed as two short tails. These jets haven’t been detected yet. But if they are, she says, they could give clues to other sets of jets seen in the universe such as those shooting from young stars or possibly even black holes.
Most people who eat octopus prefer it immobile, cut into pieces and nicely grilled or otherwise cooked. For some, though, the wiggly, sucker-covered arms of a live octopus are a treat — even though those arms can stick to the throat and suffocate the diner if they haven’t been chopped into small enough pieces.
Dolphins risk the same fate when eating octopus — and they can’t cook it or cut it up with a chef’s knife. “Octopus is a dangerous meal,” notes Kate Sprogis of Murdoch University in Australia. Even if a dolphin manages to remove an octopus’ head, it still has to deal with those sucker-covered tentacles. “The suckered arms would be difficult to handle considering dolphins don’t have hands to assist them,” Sprogis says.
A group of hungry dolphins off the coast of Western Australia have figured out a solution. They shake and toss their prey until the head falls off, the animal is in pieces and its arms are tender and not wiggling anymore, Sprogis and her colleagues report April 2 in Marine Mammal Science.
The behavior, never before reported, was discovered during observations between March 2007 and August 2013 of bottlenose dolphins living in the waters off Bunbury, Western Australia. During that time, researchers witnessed 33 events in which dolphins handled an octopus with two different methods.
In one technique, a dolphin held an octopus in its mouth and shook it, slamming its prey into the water’s surface until the meal was in pieces. Each dolphin would repeat its preferred motion, or combine the two, usually around a dozen times, over several minutes until the octopus was safe to eat. (See video below.)
“If the dolphins haven’t prepared their meal enough, then this can cause problems,” Sprogis notes. There have been two dead dolphins found in this area with whole octopuses lodged in their throats. The researchers assume that the dolphins suffocated.
Dolphins have garnered a reputation for tackling difficult-to-eat foods in creative ways. Some have been spotted using cone-shaped sponges to flush out little fish from the sandy ocean floor. Others use a six-step process to prepare a cuttlefish meal. The Bunbury dolphins eat both octopus and cuttlefish, and those meals appear to be more common in the winter and spring, when waters are cooler, Sprogis notes. That may be when the octopus and cuttlefish breed and lose some of their camouflage abilities — making them easy prey for dolphins brave or knowledgeable enough to take advantage of the potential meal.
A stone tool found in Syria more than 80 years ago has sharpened scientists’ understanding of Stone Age networking.
Small enough to fit in the palm of an adult’s hand, this chipped piece of obsidian dates to between 41,000 and 32,000 years ago, say archaeologists Ellery Frahm and Thomas Hauck. It was fashioned out of volcanic rock from outcrops in central Turkey, a minimum of 700 kilometers from where the artifact was found, the researchers report in the June Journal of Archaeological Science: Reports. Until now, the earliest transport of obsidian into the Middle East was thought to have occurred between 14,500 and 11,500 years ago, when Natufian foragers began to live in year-round settlements (SN: 9/25/10, p. 14). Someone probably shaped the obsidian chunk into a usable tool near its Turkish source, say Frahm, of Yale University, and Hauck, of the University of Cologne in Germany. The tool, which could have been used for various cutting and scraping tasks, was then passed from one mobile group to another, perhaps several times, before reaching Syria’s Yabroud II rock-shelter. Along the way, the implement underwent reshaping and resharpening.
The most direct path between the Turkish and Syrian sites stretches about 700 kilometers. But hunter-gatherers meander, following prey animals and searching for other food. So, Stone Age bearers of the obsidian tool probably traveled considerably farther to reach one of several rock-shelters clustered near what’s now the Syrian town of Yabroud, the investigators say. “They didn’t type ‘Yabroud’ into a GPS unit and make their way to the rock-shelter as fast as possible,” Frahm says. Excavations at the Yabroud sites between 1930 and 1933 yielded the obsidian tool and hundreds of artifacts made from a type of rock called chert found a mere five to 10 kilometers away. Some researchers suspect the obsidian tool was mistakenly included among much older finds shortly after being excavated. But a copy of the lead excavator’s book describing his fieldwork, housed at Yale, confirms that the implement was found in sediment dating to around the time ancient humans and Neandertals inhabited the Middle East, Frahm says. Since excavators did not collect material for radiocarbon dating, Frahm and Hauck estimated the Syrian rock-shelter’s age by comparing its sediment layers and artifacts with those at several nearby, better-dated sites. Neandertals survived in the Middle East and elsewhere until at least 40,000 years ago (SN: 9/20/14, p. 11), so they might have been the final recipients of the obsidian tool. But Frahm considers Homo sapiens a better candidate. Humans occupied the Middle East and nearby regions throughout the period when the tool may have been used. No hominid fossils have been recovered at the Syrian site.
Using a portable X-ray device, Frahm and Hauck determined the chemical composition of the obsidian tool and 230 obsidian samples from known sites throughout southwestern Asia. That let the researchers match the Syrian find to its Turkish source.
Outside the Middle East, previous evidence suggested that long-distance obsidian transport occurred in Stone Age Eurasia. Researchers reported in 1966 that two obsidian pieces with sharpened edges found at northern Iraq’s Shanidar Cave originated roughly 450 kilometers to the north. That analysis used an earlier technique for measuring a stone’s chemical composition. Shanidar’s obsidian finds date to about the same time as that of the Yabroud II obsidian tool, perhaps to as early as 48,000 years ago, Frahm says.
Recent investigations of obsidian artifacts at late Stone Age sites in Eurasia not far from Shanidar Cave, in what’s now Armenia and Georgia, indicate that hunter-gatherers there also exploited vast territories, says archaeologist Daniel Adler of the University of Connecticut in Storrs. Frahm has contributed to some of that research. As for the Yabroud II obsidian tool, “a 700-kilometer transport distance is fully within the realm of possibility for a single person over an extended period of time,” Adler says.
Eurasia may have a far older tradition of extensive hunter-gatherer networking than the Middle East does. Evidence of long-distance obsidian transport in Armenia dates to as early as around 500,000 years ago, notes archaeologist Andrew Kandel of the University of Tübingen in Germany. That means Neandertals or other now-extinct hominid species first transported obsidian across hundreds of kilometers, he says.
People may think they act independently. But we catch social behaviors faster than colds. Whether or not we vote, try a new food or wear clear plastic pants will have something to do with whether other people are doing it. Unfortunately, it’s often hard to prove exactly how contagious a particular behavior is, or which behaviors will actually spread.
A new study shows that among runners using a fitness social network, logging miles is infectious — if the runner you’re comparing yourself to is slightly worse than you. The work shows a clever new way to determine if a behavior is socially contagious. But the results also confirm something about runners: We might be a little too competitive.
Glance at any group of kids with fidget spinners or teens wearing the same brand of shoes, and it’s easy to buy into the idea of social contagions. But it’s actually not so simple to distinguish between that kind of peer influence and other outside factors. says Johan Ugander, an applied mathematician at Stanford University. It’s easy for marketers to say they want something to go viral. But it’s a lot harder to be confident that the thing that’s spreading is really a social contagion and not a common factor like location or a group of people with common interests.
For one thing, birds of a feather really do flock together. People become friends because they have things in common. You might share an important article to Facebook, and find a friend has shared the same article 20 minutes later. But is that because you influenced your friend? Or because you have the same interests and read the same kind of articles, and you just happened to see it 20 minutes before they did?
Similarly, people tend to have friends who are near them geographically. So if two neighbors gain weight, Ugander notes, it could be “because the McDonald’s opened down the street, not because I gained weight then you gained weight.”
To get around this problem of homophily, Sinan Aral, a computational social scientist at MIT, decided to look at a single behavior — running. “Running is one of the most pervasive forms of this type of exercise,” he says. “I thought it would be most generalizable.”
Runners also like to log their miles and share them with their peers. Aral was able to get data from one of several social media platforms designed for jogging buffs. Aral can’t disclose the exact app or program he used in the study (and received some funding from), but there are a few social apps out there that fit the bill, including MapMyRun, RunKeeper and Strava. Aral ended up with a vast, anonymized dataset of more than 1.1 million runners who logged more than 359 million kilometers (223 million miles) over five years. To figure out if running is contagious, there would have to be a way to make some people run and other people stay home. “The ideal study to show [a causal effect] would be to go around with a cattle prod, prodding some people to exercise more,” but leaving others alone, Aral says. “But that’s not an experiment you can run.” (Obviously.)
So Aral and colleagues used the weather as their cattle prod. Good weather beckons a runner outdoors. Rain, snow, sleet or hail will keep a runner off the street. The researchers combed through data, noting what the weather was like on a given day and how far a runner went. They then compared that runner’s logs to their friends in other cities — places far enough away that the weather would be different. With the weather serving as the prod for some to put on their running shoes or keep others at home, the scientists got a good idea of who socially infected who with the running bug.
They found that for every additional kilometer run by someone’s distant friends, the runner would add another 0.3 km (0.18 mi). Timewise, a friend spending an additional 10 minutes running will inspire an extra three minutes in someone else, Aral and his group reported April 18 in Nature Communications.
But social contagion didn’t affect everyone the same way. The runners most influenced were those who compared themselves to runners slightly worse than they were. “In the loose analogy of a race, I’m more motivated by the guy behind me than I am motivated by the person ahead of me,” Aral says.
The study also showed some gender effects. Men were most influenced by other men, but were also ready to outrace the women. In contrast, women did not tend to be influenced by men. “There have been experimental studies showing men are more competitive with one another, while women are more self-directed and motivated by internal factors,” Aral says. But that doesn’t mean that women aren’t competitive. Women were just influenced by other women.
“It’s usually very difficult to identify causal effects from correlational data, in the absence of a randomized controlled trial,” says Edoardo Airoldi, a statistician at Harvard University. The data in this study may not translate to other behaviors — even to other forms of exercise. But that isn’t the point. The beauty, Airoldi says, is in the methods. “People should know you can use the weather as an instrument to uncover patterns of human behavior that are otherwise hard to elicit,” he says.
Ugander is also a fan of the new study, but he notes that this doesn’t mean all social behaviors, or even all sports, will prove similarly contagious, especially with regard to the gender differences. “It’s not clear that that will generalize to yoga or some other sport with other gender norms,” he says.
We don’t really know what exactly drives social contagion. One theory — the complex contagion theory — posits that costly behaviors (like going for an exhausting run) require a lot of signals from a lot of people. In other words, the more people in your network are running, the more likely you are to run.
Another theory developed by Ugander’s group posits that it’s not quantity that matters, but variety, a theory called structural diversity. Your family all going running is one thing. A family member, a friend and coworker is another. “If you’re getting it from two people from different parts of your life, say sibling and coworkers, it carries more weight,” Ugander says. “But two coworkers probably got it from each other.”
A third theory suggests that embeddedness — the number of mutual connections — matters most. After all, seeing all your friends virtuously running and knowing that they are also seeing each other live the wholesome life is a lot of peer pressure.
The data from Aral’s group suggests that for running, embeddedness and structural diversity may prove the most catching. “This doesn’t mean the complex theory is wrong,” Aral notes. “We just didn’t see it for running.”
Aral himself is a runner, and admits he’s not immune to the social contagion he found. “When I have friends who are close to me in fitness in terms of their level of activity, I may be influenced,” he says. “I also feel like I’d be more influenced by someone who was slightly less of a runner than I am. If they were running more, I would think, ‘Wow, even so-and-so is out there, I need to get out there.’” This social behavior might be catching, but the vulnerable population already has a raging competition infection.
The rift in Antarctica’s Larsen C ice shelf continues to rip. Researchers from Project MIDAS, which tracks the effects of a warming climate on the ice shelf, report that the crack grew 17 kilometers between May 25 and May 31.
The crack has now turned toward the water and is within 13 kilometers of the edge of the shelf. Within days, the crack could reach the edge. When that happens, one of the largest icebergs ever recorded will fall into the ocean.
“There appears to be very little to prevent the iceberg from breaking away completely,” the researchers write.
After calving such a massive section, the shelf won’t be stable. It may experience the same fate as Larsen B, which disintegrated in 2002, after a crack there broke off a huge chunk of ice.
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.
In pumped-up sequels for scary beach movies, each predator is bigger than the last. Turns out that predators in real-world oceans may have upsized over time, too.
Attack holes in nearly 7,000 fossil shells suggest that drilling predators have outpaced their prey in evolving ever larger bodies and weapons, says paleontologist Adiël Klompmaker of the University of California, Berkeley. The ability to drill through a seashell lets predatory snails, octopuses, one-celled amoeba-like forams and other hungry beasts reach the soft meat despite prey armor. Millions of years later, CSI Paleontology can use these drill holes to test big evolutionary ideas about the power of predators. “Predators got bigger — three words!” is Klompmaker’s bullet point for the work. Over the last 450 million years or so, drill holes have grown in average size from 0.35 millimeters to 3.25 millimeters, Klompmaker and an international team report June 16 in Science. Larger holes generally mean larger attackers, the researchers say, after looking at 556 modern drillers and the size of their attack holes.
Prey changed over millennia, too, but there’s no evidence for a shift in body size. The ratio of drill-hole size to prey size became 67 times greater over time, the researchers conclude.
It’s “the rise of the bullies,” says coauthor Michal Kowalewski of the University of Florida in Gainesville.
All these data on shell holes allow researchers to test a key part of what’s called the escalation hypothesis. In 1987, Geerat Vermeij proposed a top-down view of evolutionary change, where predators, competitors and other enemies growing ever more powerful drive the biggest changes in their victims. This wasn’t so much an arms race between predators trading tit for tat with their prey as a long domination of underdogs repeatedly stomped by disproportionate menace. (Unless the prey somehow flips the relationship and can do deadly harm in return.) Vermeij, now at the University of California, Davis, and others have drawn on escalating threats to explain prey evolutionary innovations in thick shells, spines and spikes, mobility, burrowing lifestyles and toxins. One aspect of escalation scenarios has been especially hard to test: the idea that predators can become more dangerous and a stronger evolutionary force over time. Drill holes suggesting bigger, more powerful attackers allowed a rare way of exploring the idea, Klompmaker says. He now reads the deep history as showing predators escalated in size, but prey didn’t.
The energetics worked out, in large part, because early hard-shelled prey called brachiopods — a bit like clams but with one shell-half larger than the other — became scarcer over time, while clams and their fellow mollusks grew abundant. Mollusks typically have more flesh inside their shells than brachiopods, and prey overall grew denser on the ocean bottom. Killer drillers, able to dine at this buffet, could thus support bigger bodies even when prey size wasn’t rising, too.
Prey don’t make drilling easy, Klompmaker says. An hour’s work gets a typical modern predatory snail only about 0.01 to 0.02 millimeters deeper into a mollusk shell. So finally striking lunch could take days of effort with the thickest shells. And that’s with specialty equipment: A snail alternates grinding away using a hard, rasplike driller and then switching to its accessory boring organ that releases acids and enzymes, weakening the drilling spot for the next bout.
The role of such animal clashes in evolution has been notoriously difficult to study, says marine ecologist Nick Dulvy of Simon Fraser University in Burnaby, Canada. Nutrients, climate and other factors that don’t swim away into the blue are much easier to measure. Even after a robust century of ecological study, “the discoveries that otters propped up kelp forests, triggerfishes garden coral reefs, and wolves and cougars create lush diverse watersheds are comparatively recent,” Dulvy says. Until the new drill-hole study, he could think of only one earlier batch of evidence (crabs preying on mollusks) for the long rise of predators as an evolutionary force.
The story from drill holes, says Vermeij, is “very convincing.”
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.
BOSTON — Guidebook claims about the superior acoustics of the ancient Greek amphitheater of Epidaurus are a tad melodramatic. An actor’s voice can be heard in the back row, but whispers and other quiet noises cannot, acoustician Remy Wenmaekers reported June 28 at a meeting of the Acoustical Society of America.
The acoustics of the 14,000-seat theater, which dates to the fourth century B.C., are often touted as carrying faint sounds with extraordinary clarity. Wenmaekers and colleagues at Eindhoven University of Technology in the Netherlands positioned microphones at 264 spots throughout the theater and recorded a slow whooping sound projected from the stage that went from low to high frequency with time like a fire truck siren. The team also recorded sounds made by a voice simulator that mimics the frequency spectrum of a male speaker. These tests provided acoustic parameters such as sound strength and reverberation time for various spots in the audience. Then, in a lab, researchers determined the threshold for hearing noises such as a pin dropping or person whispering against the background noise of the theater.
With no roads of humming traffic nearby, the theater, which is still in use today, is remarkably quiet, especially when there’s no wind, Wenmaekers said. But sounds like tearing a sheet of paper or striking a match would be discernable only for someone sitting near the stage. The sound of a dropped coin would just barely be audible for someone seated in the back, but a dropped pin would be too quiet to hear. It’s still unknown just how far noise made by an audience member unwrapping a piece of candy carries.
The earliest asteroids were probably made of mud, not rock.
Radioactive heat in the early solar system could have melted globs of dust and ice before they had a chance to turn to rock, a new simulation published July 14 in Science Advances shows. The results could solve several puzzles about the composition of meteorites found on Earth and may explain why asteroids are different from comets.
Most knowledge about the first solid bodies in the solar system comes from meteorites called carbonaceous chondrites, thought to be chunks of the first asteroids. Their chemical compositions are almost identical to the sun’s — if you took all the hydrogen and helium out of the sun, you’d get the mineral ratios found in these bits of rock. That similarity suggests the first asteroids formed directly from the disk of gas and dust that preceded the planets. The composition also suggests that these rocks formed in the presence of water and at relatively low temperatures, around 150° Celsius.
It’s hard to explain all those features at once. If the original asteroids were bigger than about 20 kilometers across — and there’s no reason to think they weren’t — decaying radioactive elements inside them would have made the rock hotter than that. Some planetary scientists have suggested that the asteroids were porous, and water flowing through a primitive plumbing system cooled them. But the water should have stripped some elements from the rock, ruining their sunlike chemistry.
“It was a paradox,” says planetary scientist Philip Bland of Curtin University of Technology in Perth, Australia. Bland was modeling how those original globs of ice and dust could have compressed into solid rock, when it hit him: What if they weren’t rock at all? “At that moment, nothing has happened to force those grains together to turn it into a rock,” he says. That was just something everyone had assumed.
Bland reasoned that heat from radioactive decay would melt the ice, and the resulting body would be an enormous dollop of mud. The mud would suspend sediment particles, so they wouldn’t be stripped of their sunlike elements. And it would allow the early asteroids to be any size and remain cool.
Bland and Bryan Travis of the Planetary Science Institute, who is based in Los Alamos, N.M., ran computer models of how the mud balls would evolve. Convection currents, like those that move molten rock within the Earth’s mantle, would develop, helping to transfer heat into space, the models showed. After several million years, the ball would harden completely, yielding the asteroids seen today.
“It nails the paradox,” Bland says.
Mud balls could even explain the difference between asteroids and comets, he says. Comets, which are more icy than rocky and tend to live farther from the sun, may simply have formed later in the solar system’s history, when there was less radioactive heat available to melt them.
The model also showed that some asteroids would be muddy all the way through, while others would develop cores of larger grains, with a great mud ocean on top of them.
The latter result could describe not just asteroids but bodies like the dwarf planet Ceres, the largest object in the asteroid belt. Observations from NASA’s Dawn spacecraft showed that Ceres has a rocky core and may once have had an ocean that has since evaporated, says UCLA planetary scientist Edward Young. “That process may have been something like what they’re describing.”
Planetary scientist Brandon Johnson of Brown University in Providence, R.I., thinks the model will inspire more research. “I’m interested in it myself, actually,” he says. “It makes a lot of sense and paints a clear picture of what might have been happening.”
But Young is concerned that the model’s flexibility means it won’t make specific enough predictions for future work to test it. “It has so many knobs, you can get it to do whatever you want,” he says. “I’m trying to think of what the killer observation would be.”
