Liberty-loving patriots who got themselves amped up about president Trump’s new gas stations are in for a rude surprise.
When the White House announced the “Freedom Fuel” network last week, it bragged that the price at the pump would be just $3.47 per gallon — in honor, of course, of “our 47th president.”
But using data on the gas price tracking platform GasBuddy, The Hill found that the locations had prices that were at least $3.57 per gallon, with multiple videos on social media reflecting the same.
Unless Trump is planning to be president again four decades from now, we’d say this attempt to glorify himself has missed the mark.
Though some Freedom Fuel prices are lower than the national average — which is hovering around $3.80, according to the AAA — they’re still fluctuating as much as what you’d see at a typical gas station. One location in New Jersey climbed past the national average to $3.89 on Wednesday, before falling again to $3.57. Some had prices as high as $4.49.
A White House representative acknowledged that Freedom Fuel wasn’t immune to the routine fluctuations of a volatile market, not to mention local pricing.
“The prices at the gas stations will fluctuate — possibly coming down even further — depending on the market and the location,” the representative told CBS News.
Experts have needled the stunt, convinced that it won’t work out in the long-term.
“Stations selling at this price, it’s not sustainable,” GasBuddy’s head of petroleum analysis Patrick De Haan told the Philadelphia Inquirer last week, noting rising crude oil prices after Trump rekindled aggressions with Iran. “Generally, when losses happen, somebody’s got to pay for it.”
How Freedom Fuel is subsidizing the cost of its cheap gas is unclear. What company is running the locations is equally opaque. Some customers said that the Freedom Fuel stations were simply existing gas stations that were rebranded.
If nothing else, it speaks to the chintziness of Trump’s self-aggrandizing projects during his second term in office. In his first year, he heavily promoted a meme coin owned by his family, the value of which immediately plummeted. He also tried to hype the launch his own “Trump Mobile” network by teasing a new purportedly made-in-the-US smartphone, which turned out to be a repackaged Chinese device.
More on finance: Trump Fans Confused by How Their Investments in His Crypto and Stock Are Now Worth a Tiny Fraction While He’s Getting Richer
The post Prices Already Spiking at Trump’s Mysterious Gas Stations That Promised Cheap Fuel appeared first on Futurism.
A war fought in orbit will not stay between the two countries that start it. That was the blunt message Gen. Chance Saltzman carried into his final public address as Chief of Space Operations, delivered to an international audience of military leaders at the Global Air & Space Chiefs’ Conference in London. Orbital conflict, the outgoing Space Force chief argued, is no longer hypothetical, and deterrence flows from combat-credible forces rather than declarations.
The speech capped a military career spanning more than three decades and a tenure leading a service that barely existed when he took command.
Saltzman’s central claim was geographic as much as strategic. Satellites do not respect borders. A war fought in orbit — even one initiated between two adversaries — sweeps in every nation with assets overhead.
He told the London audience that orbital mechanics will place every nation’s space capabilities in a space war zone whether those nations want to be there or not. Because the consequences will be shared, he argued, responsibility for a safe, secure, and stable space domain should be shared as well.
The message was aimed squarely at allied air and space chiefs. Saltzman framed space as a team sport — not by preference, but by physics.
Saltzman has spent his tenure pushing back against a version of deterrence built primarily on statements, red lines, and calculations about adversary intent. His alternative strategy asks the service to avoid operational surprise, deny adversaries the benefit of striking first, and develop counterspace capabilities that do not generate long-lived orbital debris.
The logic is that visible, credible force does the deterrent work on its own.
Saltzman argued that combat-credible capabilities should create a deterrent effect, and that if they don’t, the force will be prepared to respond to aggression.
That framing matters because it shifts the burden of prediction. Rather than trying to game out what Beijing or Moscow might do, the Space Force builds forces designed to defeat what those adversaries have already fielded — jammers, dazzlers, co-orbital interceptors, and cyber tools capable of disabling satellites.
Those warnings are grounded in a specific assessment: China and Russia are developing systems capable of jamming, disabling, or destroying satellites. That has pushed the Space Force’s focus toward what is known as space control — the ability to defend friendly assets and, if necessary, disrupt adversary space operations.
The terrestrial precedent is already visible. Widespread GPS jamming across the Middle East during recent conflicts has disrupted commercial aviation, shipping, and civilian navigation across a wide region. Space-based services are already contested infrastructure. The question is whether the platforms themselves become targets.
Saltzman’s answer is that if adversaries believe an attack on U.S. satellites can be answered — and answered without turning low Earth orbit into a debris field — the attack becomes less likely.
When Saltzman took command, the Space Force was less than three years old. It had a thin institutional identity and no coherent long-term force design.
By the time of his farewell, the service had grown and gained visibility through its role supporting recent operations.
Under Saltzman, the Space Force introduced the Objective Force — a 15-year force-design effort meant to define the spacecraft, personnel, infrastructure, and partnerships the service will need through 2040. It also began implementing a new personnel model that blends full- and part-time service, moving away from the traditional active-reserve split. In April, nearly 250 Air Force reservists were selected to transfer into part-time Guardian roles, a step toward a single, unified component.
Saltzman’s farewell came as House lawmakers signaled they would approve only a fraction of the funds the Trump administration had requested for major space programs through budget reconciliation.
The White House had requested substantial funding through the normal defense budget plus additional funding through reconciliation — a partisan-controlled maneuver rarely used for defense spending until recently. The reconciliation package was meant to fund programs including space capabilities and missile defense efforts. House leaders indicated they would back a significantly smaller reconciliation bill.
Saltzman declined to say publicly whether that shortfall would harm the service. He said he stood behind the request and called it a dramatic increase in resourcing for capabilities he considers vital. The rest, he acknowledged, is a negotiation between the executive and the legislature.
The London speech came after recent tensions between the United States and European allies. Saltzman’s message pushed the other direction.
He emphasized that nations are stronger as a team than individually, pointing to decades of evidence supporting that conclusion.
He also offered a rare piece of advice to uniformed leaders operating in politically turbulent times, describing military institutions in democracies as providing stability — the weight that slows movement but keeps the vessel stable in a storm.
The framing is worth pausing on. Space is one of the few remaining domains where allied cooperation is not just useful but structurally required. Satellites cross national airspace hundreds of times a day. Space situational awareness depends on ground stations scattered across friendly territory. Debris from a single kinetic anti-satellite test can threaten spacecraft belonging to dozens of nations. The physics forces the politics.
Lt. Gen. Douglas Schiess is expected to become the third Chief of Space Operations if confirmed by the Senate. He inherits a service with a clearer doctrine than the one Saltzman received, but also with sharper political headwinds, a contested budget, and adversaries whose counterspace programs have matured considerably in recent years.
One line from Saltzman’s farewell hints at how he thinks about the job he’s handing off: not all challenges must be solved, and some should simply be managed.
Acquisition speed, interoperability across allied systems, information sharing between classified and unclassified networks — these are persistent conditions of running a modern military service, not problems with endpoints. Treating them as solvable invites frustration. Treating them as manageable invites patience.
That’s a quieter argument than the headline warning about war in orbit, but it may be the more consequential one for the institution Saltzman built. The Space Force he leaves is younger than most of its guardians’ careers. It will spend the next decade discovering which of its problems are the kind that get fixed and which are the kind that get lived with.
For readers thinking about how space reshapes institutional identity and civilian imagination, our earlier piece on Artemis 2, Apollo 8, and overview thinking traces a parallel question from the exploration side of the ledger.
The post Gen. Chance Saltzman used his final public address as chief of the U.S. Space Force to tell allied commanders in London that a war in orbit would sweep in every nation’s satellites, because orbital mechanics does not respect the line between combatant and bystander appeared first on Space Daily.
© Adriana Loureiro Fernandez for The New York Times
Ofcom concerned TikTok’s age verification is ineffective, leaving some exposed to posts on suicide, self-harm and pornography
TikTok is under formal investigation over concerns it has failed to protect children from harmful content, the UK’s online regulator, Ofcom, has announced.
The social media platform’s approach to checking the ages of users has sparked “particular concerns” at the watchdog, almost a year after measures to protect children from the worst of online content came into effect under the Online Safety Act.
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© Photograph: True Images/Alamy
© Photograph: True Images/Alamy
© Photograph: True Images/Alamy
Scientists have taken another important step toward making next-generation solar panels more powerful and longer lasting. An international team of researchers has developed a new chemical treatment that helps perovskite solar cells convert sunlight into electricity more efficiently while also improving their durability. The breakthrough allowed the experimental solar cells to reach a power conversion […]
The post New molecule helps next-generation solar cells break the 26% efficiency barrier appeared first on Knowridge Science Report.
Knitted fabrics are usually associated with warm sweaters, scarves, and blankets. But researchers at the Harvard John A. Paulson School of Engineering and Applied Sciences (SEAS) have shown that knitting can do much more than keep people warm. They have created a new type of smart fabric that can change shape, act like a switch, […]
The post This smart knitted fabric can count your steps, turn on lights, and change shape appeared first on Knowridge Science Report.
On December 14, 1972, in the last hour before Gene Cernan climbed the ladder of the lunar module Challenger for the final time, he crouched in the powdery grey soil of the Taurus-Littrow valley and drew three letters with his gloved finger: T, D, C. They were the initials of his daughter, Teresa Dawn Cernan. He knew, standing there in a place with no rain, no wind of the kind that moves dust on Earth, and no plate tectonics to churn the surface, that the marks he was making would very likely still be there long after the little girl who inspired them, and everyone she had ever known, was gone.
No human being has been back to touch them.
Cernan and geologist Harrison “Jack” Schmitt had been on the Moon for more than three days. They had driven the lunar rover through a valley carved by an ancient impact, gathered more than 240 pounds of rock and soil, and, at one point, patched a broken rover fender using laminated geology maps and duct tape after Cernan snagged it with a rock hammer. It was the brightest moment of his life.
Then it was time to leave.
Schmitt was already inside the lunar module. Cernan lingered at the base of the ladder. He had spent part of the mission privately grasping for a line worthy of Neil Armstrong’s “giant leap.” What came out, into his suit radio, was quieter: “We leave as we came and, God willing, as we shall return, with peace and hope for all mankind.”
Before he turned to the ladder, he bent down. He traced TDC into the lunar dust with a fingertip protected only by the layered fabric of an EVA glove. He imagined, according to interviews he gave later, someone in a distant future finding the rover, the boot prints, and the three letters, and asking, “I wonder who was here? Some ancient civilization was here back in the 20th century, and look at the funny marks they made.”
Earth erases almost everything. Wind sands down mountains. Rain dissolves limestone into caves. Roots crack pavement in a season. Ice widens fissures into canyons. A footprint on a beach is gone before the tide turns.
The Moon does none of that.
There is no atmosphere thick enough to move dust the way weather moves it on Earth. There is no liquid water at the surface. There are no plants, no burrowing animals, no plate tectonics reshuffling the crust. What does happen is slow. Micrometeorites — specks of interplanetary debris the size of sand grains and smaller — strike the surface constantly, gradually stirring the uppermost layer of regolith in a process planetary scientists call “gardening.” Solar wind sputters atoms off exposed grains. Temperature swings of more than 250°C between lunar day and lunar night flex and fatigue the rock.
None of that is fast. The top centimeter of lunar soil is turned over on a timescale measured in millions of years, not decades. The boot prints left by Cernan and Schmitt, and by the ten Americans who walked there before them, are, on any human clock, effectively permanent. NASA imagery from the Lunar Reconnaissance Orbiter has confirmed the Apollo tracks are still visible from orbit more than half a century later — a point Cernan himself made in congressional testimony, when he noted his footprints were still visible on the Moon more than 40 years after he had made them.
The same forces that preserve the Apollo hardware preserve TDC.
The claim that the initials will last millions of years is worth pinning down. The rate at which the lunar surface is churned by micrometeoroid impacts has been measured by studying the ages of exposed rocks and modeled from impact-flux data. Fine surface features roughly the depth of a fingertip trace — a few millimeters — are estimated to be erased on timescales of order 10 million years. Larger structures, like rover tracks and deeper boot impressions, last longer still. Meanwhile, cosmic dust rains onto every airless body in the solar system, including Earth, where it turns up preserved in unexpected places — in 2017, Imperial College London researchers recovered fossilised micrometeorites from roughly 90-million-year-old chalk of the same Late Cretaceous formation that makes up the White Cliffs of Dover.
On the Moon, that same slow dusting is one of the processes that will eventually bury the TDC letters. But “eventually” is not on a human scale. The letters will almost certainly outlast every printed book, every steel bridge, every marble monument on Earth. They will outlast the pyramids by a factor of a thousand. They will still be legible after languages that have not yet been invented have come and gone.
Cernan was in his late thirties on that last EVA. Teresa, whom the family called Tracy, was nine years old, in elementary school. His marriage to her mother, Barbara, would later end in divorce. He was, by every account, an aviator’s aviator — thousands of hours of Navy flight time, an electrical engineering degree from Purdue, graduate training in aeronautics, and a spacewalk on Gemini 9 that nearly killed him when his suit overheated and his visor fogged.
The image of a fighter pilot writing a child’s initials in the dust of another world is not the image Apollo usually offered the public. Apollo offered flags, salutes, and the pale-blue Earth hanging in a black sky. The astronaut office, as we’ve explored in a piece on Buzz Aldrin’s 1973 memoir, was a culture where emotional interiority was something you flew through, not something you talked about.
Cernan talked about it anyway. In interviews across four decades, he returned again and again to the moment on the ladder. “Those steps up that ladder, they were tough to make,” he told a NASA oral historian in 2007. “I didn’t want to go up. I wanted to stay a while.”
The TDC gesture sat inside that reluctance. It was a way of leaving something of his life behind in a place he suspected, correctly, he would never come back to.
Teresa Dawn Cernan was a child when her father wrote her name on another world. She was in her fifties when he died in a Houston hospital in January 2017, aged 82. She is named in her father’s obituaries among his survivors, alongside her stepmother, Jan Nanna Cernan, two stepsisters, and nine grandchildren.
She has, on the rare occasions she has spoken publicly, acknowledged the initials as an extraordinary gift. It is also, quietly, one of the strangest inheritances anyone has ever received: not a house, not a watch, not a piece of jewelry, but three finger-drawn letters in extraterrestrial soil, protected from erasure by the physics of a world without weather.
Cernan spent much of the rest of his life pushing, publicly and often, for humans to go back. He testified before Congress. He filmed a documentary. He worried aloud, more than once, that he would die still holding the title of the last man on the Moon.
He did.
The Apollo program ended not because the rockets stopped working but because the political reason for building them evaporated the moment the Soviet Union was decisively beaten to the surface. Apollo 18, 19, and 20 were cancelled. The Saturn V production line was shut down. Engineers who had built the largest rocket in history were laid off or reassigned. By the time Cernan retired from NASA in the mid-1970s, the infrastructure to send someone else back had already been dismantled.
More than half a century passed before anyone came close again. The Artemis program, now underway, plans its first crewed landing at the Moon’s south pole rather than Taurus-Littrow. Cernan’s valley is on the near side, at the eastern edge of Mare Serenitatis, more than 3,000 kilometers from the planned Artemis landing zone.
The initials will keep their solitude for a while yet.
There is a category of human gesture that only makes sense against the scale of geological time. Carving a lover’s name into a beech tree. Scratching initials into wet cement. Leaving graffiti in a Roman catacomb. What all of these share is a bet against forgetting — a bet the graffito will outlast the person who made it.
Most of those bets lose. Trees fall. Cement is repoured. Catacombs collapse.
The Moon is different. It is possibly the most stable writing surface in the accessible solar system. Cernan, an electrical engineer by training, would have understood this instinctively. He was drawing on a substrate that had been undisturbed for something like three billion years before he arrived. The mare basalts that underlie the regolith are older than most of the surface of Earth. When he wrote his daughter’s initials, he was signing a very old page.
In his final decades, Cernan gave a version of the same speech to schoolchildren over and over: humans belong out there. He was, by then, an old man in a blazer, talking to auditoriums of eight-year-olds. Somewhere in each of those talks, he mentioned Tracy’s initials. It was the human hook, the moment the room went quiet.
Gene Cernan died on January 16, 2017. His body is buried on Earth. The suit he wore in the Taurus-Littrow valley — the same one whose glove drew the letters — is a museum object now, gradually being studied and preserved by conservators who worry about the way lunar dust, once so alien it was quarantined on return, is slowly working its way out of the fabric.
Two hundred and fifty thousand miles away, on the eastern edge of a valley named for the Latin word for bull, three finger-drawn letters continue to exist in a place with no weather and no witnesses.
There is no fence around them. There is no plaque. There is no camera pointed at them. There is only lunar day, two weeks long, and lunar night, two weeks long, and the occasional silent flash of a micrometeorite hitting somewhere in the surrounding kilometers of grey.
If humans return to Taurus-Littrow in a century, or a thousand years, or ten thousand, and think to look, the letters will almost certainly still be there. If humans never return, the letters will still be there. If the species that made them goes extinct, the letters will still be there. If, on some very distant morning, another kind of visitor arrives from somewhere else entirely and finds a rover and a set of boot prints and, in the powdery grey soil beside them, three shallow marks in the shape of a T, a D, and a C, they will not know that they have found the way one father, on his last hour in another world, said goodbye to his daughter.
They will only know that someone was here.
The post In December 1972, before he climbed the ladder of the Apollo 17 lunar module for the last time, Gene Cernan knelt in the grey dust of the Taurus-Littrow valley and traced his daughter Tracy’s initials, TDC, into a surface with no wind or weather to erase them for millions of years appeared first on Space Daily.
A process called Alkaline Thermal Treatment (ATT) has been tested to turn mixed plastic waste into high-purity hydrogen fuel.
Researchers from the UCLA Samueli School of Engineering and Ewha Womans University in South Korea undertook this new study. This process eliminates the costly and laborious step of sorting plastic waste before recycling.
The single-reactor method successfully processes a mixture of the three most common, hard-to-recycle plastics: polyethylene terephthalate (PET), polyethylene (PE), and polypropylene (PP).
“We are solving two urgent global problems at the same time,” said Ah-Hyung “Alissa” Park, the Ronald and Valerie Sugar Dean of UCLA Samueli and a professor of chemical and biomolecular engineering.
“Plastic waste is accumulating at alarming rates, and clean hydrogen is essential for decarbonizing energy. This technology tackles both of these challenges in a creative and scalable way,” the co-corresponding author added.
Look around you. The water bottle on your desk, the crinkly shopping bag in your pantry, and the sleek dashboard of your car all share a drawback. Once you throw them away, the waste is almost impossible to recycle as a single stream.
A persistent challenge in global recycling is the labor-intensive requirement to sort plastics by type before processing. It leads to 79 percent of plastic waste ending up buried in landfills, while another 12 percent is burned away into atmospheric pollution. Only 9 percent ever get a second life.
But the new study overcomes this challenge. The team demonstrated a chemical technique that takes a chaotic, unsorted cocktail of the world’s three most common plastics and transforms it into hydrogen fuel. Interestingly, the method does it without releasing a single puff of carbon dioxide.
Alkaline Thermal Treatment uses heat to trigger a reaction between sodium hydroxide and organic matter, generating hydrogen fuel in the process.
It was originally designed to extract hydrogen fuel from ocean biomass, such as seaweed. The researchers wondered if the same principles could dissolve our mounting plastic problem.
While plastic bottles (PET) broke down easily during the process, shopping bags (PE) and food containers (PP) resisted the chemical attack due to highly stable, stubborn carbon-hydrogen bonds.
To overcome this chemical defense, a thermal oxidation pretreatment was introduced. In this process, the mixed plastic was briefly exposed to mild heat in the air. After this, oxygen was introduced into the stubborn polymer chains, which created the reactive weak spots needed for the treatment to dismantle all three plastic types.
Once activated, the unsorted plastic soup degrades beautifully inside a single reactor, pumping out hydrogen gas with a purity level exceeding 90 percent.
ATT process changes the game for environmental footprints by operating at temperatures around 400 degrees Celsius (752 F), which are cooler than those of extreme gasification methods.
Furthermore, the technique uses a sodium hydroxide reagent to capture the plastic’s carbon rather than venting greenhouse gases into the atmosphere. The carbon is permanently bound into a stable, solid mineral called sodium carbonate.
The researchers have already outlined a simple secondary process to turn that byproduct into calcium carbonate. That is the exact mineral used by the concrete and construction industries, locking the plastic’s carbon away forever in infrastructure.
The breakthrough is currently confined to precision laboratory settings. Significant optimization is required to scale the technology up for municipal recycling plants, and its long-term economic viability still needs to be rigorously tested.
The study was published in Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences.
We are writers and editors reading the research, not clinicians, paediatricians, or child psychologists. What follows is reflection on published studies, not guidance for any individual family. The findings here are drawn from controlled research; population-level patterns are not prescriptions for your own child.
Feed some children sugar and others a sugar-free sweetener, and make sure nobody knows who got which. When you do that, the sugar does nothing measurable to how the children behave. That is the result pooled across roughly two dozen experiments in a 1995 review, and it has held up for three decades.
The children on sugar do not get more wound up. What changes, in a separate line of research, is the adult watching them.
The anchor is a review published in JAMA in 1995 by Mark Wolraich, David Wilson and J. Wade White, then in the Department of Pediatrics at Vanderbilt University. Pulling together the controlled trials available at the time, they concluded that “sugar (mainly sucrose) does not affect the behavior or cognitive performance of children”. Reviewers note the analysis covered 23 experiments across 16 scientific papers, which is where the “two dozen” figure comes from.
This does not prove sugar can never matter. A small effect, or an effect in some particular group of children, could not be ruled out. What the pooled trials showed was no demonstrable change in behaviour, not certainty that sugar is harmless for everyone. The popular version tends to flatten into “sugar has no effect, full stop,” which the data does not quite support.
The strength of the finding comes from how strict the rules were. To count, a study had to feed children a set amount of sugar, compare it against a look-alike sweetener, and keep everyone in the dark about which was which: the children, the parents, and the research staff all had to be kept from knowing.
That last part shapes everything. If a parent does not know sugar was served, they cannot pin behaviour on it. Picture a parent watching a child eat cake at a party and then act up: the parent has already decided what caused it. Take away that knowledge, and the effect disappears. Which raises the obvious question of where the effect was coming from in the first place.
A study published a year earlier, in 1994, answered it about as directly as an experiment can. Daniel Hoover and Richard Milich, at the University of Kentucky, tested thirty-five boys, aged five to seven, whose mothers described them as sensitive to sugar.
The trick was in what the mothers were told. As the authors put it: “In the experimental group, mothers were told their children had received a large dose of sugar, whereas in the control condition mothers were told their sons received a placebo; all children actually received the placebo (aspartame).” Every boy got the sugar-free sweetener, but half the mothers were told their sons had been loaded with sugar.
The only thing that varied was the belief planted in the mother. And that belief moved the ratings. The authors report: “Mothers in the sugar expectancy condition rated their children as significantly more hyperactive.” How much trouble they saw tracked the story they had been given, not anything the child had eaten.
The behaviour that actually shifted was the mother’s own. The authors note that these mothers “exercised more control by maintaining physical closeness, as well as showing trends to criticize, look at, and talk to their sons more than did control mothers.”
This is one small study of thirty-five boys, so read it as a vivid demonstration of how the effect works, not a universal law about all parents. The direction, though, is hard to miss. Told a child had been given sugar, a mother hovered closer, watched harder, and found more to correct.
The 1995 authors had a plain explanation for why the belief persists despite the trials: expectation and simple association.
Sugar tends to turn up alongside the things that wind children up. Birthday parties, holidays, late nights, crowds of other children, a break from routine. The cake is present at the chaos, so the cake gets the blame.
An expectation, once held, tends to confirm itself in ways that are hard to spot from the inside. A parent who believes sugar causes trouble watches the child more closely after sugar, and closer watching finds more to flag. The child does not have to change for the report to change. Anyone who has scrutinised someone more carefully because they were warned to expect a problem has run a small version of this experiment without meaning to.
None of this means sugar is good for children. This is not an argument about diet or dental health, which are separate questions with their own evidence. The narrow claim is only this: under blinded conditions, the behaviour change so many adults are sure they have seen does not seem to show up.
The sugar-and-hyperactivity story may end up being less about children than about how confidently an adult can misread a moment once they already know what the answer is supposed to be.
If you are worried about a child’s attention or activity levels, we recommend you consult a paediatrician or child psychologist rather than making any decisions on articles such as this.
The post Sugar may not make children hyperactive: across two dozen controlled trials the sugar did nothing measurable. In one small experiment, what changed was the parent — mothers who thought their sons had been given sugar rated them as more hyperactive and hovered closer. appeared first on Space Daily.
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